


Talented

by prepare4trouble



Category: Lost Boys (Movies)
Genre: Frogfic, Gen, Magic, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-20
Updated: 2011-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:47:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prepare4trouble/pseuds/prepare4trouble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edgar and Alan are less than pleased when a magic store opens up on the Boardwalk. That, however, turns out to be the least of their problems as they are forced to reassess preconceptions and see the world from a slightly different perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sun was warm, but there was a chill in the breeze that blew off of the sea ruffling Edgar's hair as he stood, arms folded, staring in distaste at the new store on the boardwalk. “Great,” he muttered. “Just what this town needs.”

Standing next to him, Sam's brow furrowed in confusion, “What do you mean?”

In reply, Edgar pointed to a recently taken over building sandwiched between a surfing shop and a fast food restaurant. Not yet open for business, the carefully hand painted sign above the door was still wet. Black, gothic style writing on a yellow-white background, it simply read 'The Cauldron.' In the doorway, an old man, possibly the owner, stood looking out over the beach.

“Cool,” said Sam.

“Cool?” Edgar turned to face him wearing a look of extreme irritation. “It's a magic store. You know, charms, curses, general mayhem? Trust me, Sam, this is the very definition of not cool.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Oh, right. Sometimes I forget I'm hanging out with captain paranoia.”

“C'mon,” Edgar grabbed his shirt at the shoulder and tugged him away in the direction of the boardwalk. “The guy's looking at us.”

“Hey!” Sam pushed Edgar's hand away and straightened his shirt with a flick of his fingers, then followed him away from the new shop.

***

Anthony opened his new front door and inhaled a lungful of sea air. The Santa Carla boardwalk was bathed in sunshine so much warmer than the watery sunlight further north where they had come from. The sea reflected the brilliant blue of the cloudless sky. This was a good place. A place of great power. But it held an undercurrent of something dark, twisted. There was evil here too. Attracted by the same force that brought him here, it had settled, thick and viscous, invisible on the golden sand and sun-drenched streets.

But that was always the way. Places of power attracted creatures of power, and not all of those creatures were pleasant.

The scene in front of him showed a town populated by haircuts and clothes. Each person that walked past seemed to be attempting something never seen before, as though every resident of the town was silently screaming out for attention. If they knew what was out there, they might not be quite so eager to be visible among the masses.

Leaning against the low wall separating the boardwalk from the beach, stood a young man who stood out simply by virtue of the fact that he was not trying to. Among the throng of attention seeking sun worshipers and surfers, a boy of maybe sixteen dressed in black and military green with a red bandanna, arms folded as he surveyed the area, looked out of place.

Next to him stood another boy of roughly the same age. His hair was carefully styled, and although his attire didn't quite scream for attention, it certainly spoke loudly. 

The boy in the military gear stared at the store with distrust, his friend with mild interest. Anthony gave them a smile and a wave, and was rewarded by a scowl. The first boy grabbed the other's shoulder and pulled him away, shooting back a glance at the shop. Anthony sighed. Hopefully the town's other residents would be more welcoming.

Inside, he could hear his granddaughter hard at work stacking the shelves. He turned and headed back inside, though his muscles protested at the mere thought of the carrying and lifting involved. There was a lot to do if they wanted to open on schedule.

***

The news of the new store cast an aura of gloom over the Frog's comics that Sam didn't understand. As Alan stacked the shelves with the weeks new issues and moved the older ones to the back issues boxes, Edgar sat behind the cash register brooding. Alan worked silently, as Sam watched, waiting for the new Superman comic to come out of the box and straight into his hands. “What's so bad about a magic shop?” he asked. “It's just a bit of harmless fun.”

“Harmless?” Alan stopped work as he turned towards Sam with a superior sneer that said the younger boy had no idea what he was talking about. “We're not talking about card tricks and disappearing coins here. Magic is dangerous.”

Sam smirked, “Sure it is. I'm quaking.”

Edgar got to his feet and shoved his face into Sam's so close that Sam stepped backwards and hit the shelf behind him, knocking the new issues of Batman to the ground. “You should be,” he said dramatically. “Magic is a corrupting force. It starts off innocently enough, but just think what the idea of being able to do whatever you want would do to the average high school kid. Love spells, curses on people you hate. The deeper into it you get, the harder it is to claw your way out.

“These places target kids, get them hooked on the power, then a few years down the line we'll find ourselves fighting people who we used to be at school with. That place is evil. It needs to be shut down.”

Sam gulped, “Okay. But how?”

“We go over there and strongly imply to the owner that he would be better off in another town.”

“What?” asked Sam. “You mean threaten him? I don't like the sound of that, guys.”

Alan finally retrieved the new Superman issues from the box and handed one to Sam. “Not threaten him,” he said, “more like let him know we're around and we know what he is. That way he'll think twice before he does anything.”

“Unless he decides to do something to us first.” Edgar added.

Sam tried to ignore that and turned to Alan, “Do you really think that's going to work?”

“I hope so,” he said. “Whatever else he is, he's human. We can't stake a human.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam watched as Edgar and Alan prepared themselves for an encounter with the owner of the magic store. They decided to forgo the war paint and weapons in favor of their street clothes, they had no weapons against magic anyway. As they marched out of the door, Sam hung back. Alan shot a glance over his shoulder, “Coming?”

“I think I'll stay here if you guys don't mind,” he said. “No offense, but if you get arrested for harassment I don't want to be guilty by association. Have you even stopped to consider that he might be an ordinary guy opening a novelty store? He might not even think magic is real.”

Edgar and Alan exchanged one of their looks that Sam had come to understand signified some kind of nonverbal communication.

“You're in charge of the store til we get back,” Edgar told him.

“No giving yourself discounts,” Alan added.

“A third man that he doesn't know about could come in useful in the future if it comes down to a fight, so you're doing us a favor really.”

Sam nodded, “Good luck.”

Edgar walked quickly away, closely followed by Alan. As soon as they were out of earshot, Edgar shook his head angrily, “Coward.”

“He just doesn't understand,” Alan told him. “Anyway, maybe he's right. Partially, at least. We don't know this place is going to cause us any trouble. We don't know it's selling real magic, and even if it is, we don't know anything about magic.”

“You've been spending too much time with Sam,” Edgar said, “It's supernatural. It's evil.”

A short way along the boardwalk, he hesitated at the black painted door. There were no windows in the wood, no way to tell what they were about to walk into. He took a deep breath and turned the handle.

The top of the door knocked against a large brass bell as it swung open, making a pleasant ringing sound that echoed around the store. Newly opened it might have been, but it looked as though it had been there for years. Burning intense sticks and candles made the air thick with their sickly sweet odor. The shelves were piled high with heavy, imposing looking books and interesting pieces of equipment that neither boy recognized. The glass of the windows had been made with a slight tint that bathed the whole room in golden light giving the impression that they had stepped into an old, yellowing photograph from a century ago.

At the back of the store, running along the wall, were a row of glass jars, each one labeled in immaculate handwriting. The labels described the various herbs contained, some Edgar and Alan recognized, most they did not. Other jars, out of reach behind the counter, contained less pleasant items. One seemed to be filled with what appeared to be tiny eyeballs suspended in some kind of fluid, another was unmistakably the back legs of several frogs. Edgar grimaced in disgust.

The place definitely looked authentic, worryingly so. And old, as though the items on the shelves had sat there years, gathering dust, waiting to be sold. Edgar ran a finger across the surface of a bookshelf, it came away clean.

The cash register looked as though it had been plucked out of the last century. A heavy, brass affair with an intricate patterned design and ten stiff looking keys each with a number on them. It sat on a wooden desk directly opposite the door, behind it, next to the jars of unpleasant things, was a thick black curtain. From behind the curtain, an old man emerged and smiled at them. “Well now, my first customers. Welcome, boys. What can I interest you in today?”

His age was impossible to guess, he could have been anywhere between sixty and eighty. He wore an unremarkable casual suit, and a pair of wire frames glasses. It wasn't a look generally associated with the deviant proprietor of an establishment designed to corrupt and twist the minds and souls of unsuspecting kids. But then they had learned recently just how misleading looks could be when the most unlikely of men happened to be a head vampire.

Edgar pushed forward into the store and stopped in front of the man, only the desk separating them, “Are you the guy in charge?” He asked.

He nodded. “Yes, I am. My name's Anthony Price, pleased to meet you.

“Yeah, well it's time to pack up and leave, grandpa. This magic stuff isn't welcome around here, so close up and get out of town before you regret it.”

The man frowned, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Get out of Santa Carla and take all this crap with you.”

He shook his head with a vague expression of amusement, “You're the boys from the comic book store down the way, aren't you?”

Edgar shared a glance with his brother before they both nodded.

“Well, if you're the welcome wagon, I'm looking forward to seeing what the troublemakers are like.” He sighed. “Look, I don't know what you think you know about my line of business, but I'm not some evil warlock. I'm just a businessman opening a new store in a new town. I'm not out to hurt anyone or make them do anything they don't want. I'm just trying to make a living and do a little good at the same time.”

“Good?” Edgar scoffed.

“I don't know if you boys have noticed, but your town here has a lot of supernatural energy. Some of it is good, but most it dangerous. It'll attract all kinds of bad influences. Vampires, werewolves maybe, poltergeists. It's in your interests to have someone who knows how to deal with that kind of thing close by.”

Edgar rested his palms on the desk and leaned forward, staring the man in the eye, “We know what we're doing. We've fought them off before and we can do it again.”

“Really?” he appeared surprised by that revelation. “Well then, we are on the same side. Some back up is never a bad thing.”

“We'll take our chances,” Edgar told him.

“Well, that's your choice, but if you need me, you know where I am.” He turned to Alan. “And what about you, son? Do you agree with your brother, or should I be given a chance?”

Alan glanced at Edgar before he replied, “I agree with him.”

The man nodded. “A united front. That's good, you'll be stronger that way. I'm sorry, boys, but I'm not going anywhere.”

“We'll see about that.” Edgar told him before spinning on his heals and marching out of the shop. Alan turned to follow him, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. He turned back quickly, ready to fight, but the old man released his grip immediately.

Alan watched him suspiciously, as he reached under the counter for a small paperback book. He placed it on the wooden surface and slid it towards Alan.

Alan stared at the book and shook his head in refusal.

“No charge,” the man told him. Think of it this way, if we're going to be enemies, shouldn't you know as much about the other side as possible?”

Alan reached for the book, then hesitated with his hand hovering above it. He grabbed it quickly and shoved it into the large back pocket of his pants, then followed his brother outside before his absence became suspicious.

He blinked as he emerged from the gloom of the store into the harsh sunlight of the Santa Carla April. Edgar was already several paces further toward home, he could see the tension in him from the way he held his shoulders as he walked. Alan hurried to catch up with him.

“Stubborn old man,” said Edgar, “He's going to regret this.”

“You can't really blame him,” Alan told him. “His first day in business and two kids come in to tell him to leave town. You didn't really expect him to say 'okay then' and start packing up, did you?”

Edgar turned to face him and Alan could see the frustration written all over his face.

“You did, didn't you? I think we need to face it, Edgar, we might be death incarnate to the local vampire population, but the adults around here just see two weird kids. They won't take us any more seriously than the kids at school.”

“He could at least have gotten angry,” Edgar said. “He didn't have to be so damn calm about it.”

“Maybe he really is on our side.”

Edgar shook his head. “He's magician, or a wizard, or whatever the hell they call themselves. He does magic, magic is evil. That makes him evil.”

The book was pressing uncomfortably against Alan's left buttock, reminding him of it's existence. “We don't know magic is evil.” He pointed out. “We've never even really come up against it before.”

“I know,” Edgar told him.

Alan sighed and pushed open the door to the comic store to find Sam sitting behind the desk, feet up and a comic in his hands. He looked up as he heard them enter, “How'd it go?”

“It's going to take a little more work,” Edgar told him. “We'll keep the place under surveillance, make a note of who goes in, especially people we know.”

***

A few days later, Anthony looked out of the window through the yellow tint that had seemed like such a good idea when he ordered it but made the store feel so gloomy. Still, he supposed it was atmospheric, which was what he had been going for. The rude, loudmouthed boy that had told him to leave was on watch outside, glaring at his customers as they entered and exited.

“What'cha doing?” asked a voice from behind him.

He jumped in surprise, then turned and smiled, “Sophie, how do you move so quietly? Our friends are still on guard outside.”

“Which one is it today?” His granddaughter joined him at the window and rolled her eyes, “Him again. I hate that guy. Self righteous asshole.”

He shook his head, “He's just misinformed.” He looked out of the window again. “At least no one seems to have realized why they're out there. Being spied on might put customers off.”

“Yeah, well that's why I said you should call the cops. This is harassment or something, it's gotta be.” She blew a pink bubble with her gum and let it burst loudly. “Get rid of them,” she added.

Anthony shook his head, “The other one has potential. I don't want to risk alienating him.”

“Right.” She backed away from the window and sighed loudly. “Damn, that's annoying. Can't get rid of the asshole because of his brother. Can't talk to the brother because of the asshole.”

“I do wish you wouldn't use that kind of language, Sophie. But you're right, though I wouldn't have put it so colorfully.”

“So what are we going to do?”

Anthony placed a hand on his granddaughter's shoulder. “I'm going to drink a cup of coffee and wait. You are going to practice the scrying spells I taught you last night.”


	3. Chapter 3

Kids enjoying their lunch break swarmed around Sam and Alan in groups, talking loudly about their plans for the weekend or what they did the night before. Sam scanned the crowd quickly for Edgar before he turned to Alan and continued their conversation. “So what's the book about?” he asked, curious.

Alan thought for a moment, then answered in a low voice, as thought he through someone might be watching them. “It's a history of magic going right back to the middle ages, there's a bit of information of the theory behind the Practice – that's what they call it – and there are a few spells.” He shrugged, “It's like Magic 101, or the book they'd use if that course existed.”

“That's a course I'd like to take.” Sam grinned, “So did you try any of the spells? Are they as evil as your brother thinks?” 

Alan shook his head and looked around for Edgar before he spoke. The last thing he needed was for the older Frog to catch part of the conversation and get the wrong idea. “They all need ingredients I don't have. None of them are what you'd call evil, though. The first one in the book is about changing the color of a flower.”

Sam smirked, “Oooh, scary! Don't tell Edgar, he'll be terrified.”

Alan's expression grew serious, “ _Don't_ tell Edgar,” he said, looking around quickly again for any sign of his brother. “He would seriously freak out.”

“So why are you doing it?”

“I'm not doing anything. I just read a book. Like the guy said, you should find out as much about your enemies as possible.”

Sam grunted his acceptance of the answer and reclined back on the grass, placed his hands underneath his head, and closed his eyes, “And this guy, do you think he is our enemy?”

“I don't know.” Alan thought carefully about his phrasing, “I think there's a chance we overreacted. And I think we should find out more before we try to drive him out of town.”

One eye opened and looked at Alan for a moment, “When do we get to try some spells?”

“We don't.”

“Come on, you said yourself none of them are evil. Lets do that flower one, that's about the least evil thing I can think of.”

Alan sighed. He was curious too, and he was never going to hear the end of it if he didn't. That, or Sam would visit the magic shop himself and try something stupid. “Fine,” he said, “I'm supposed to be on surveillance duty tonight. We'll buy what we need and try it.”

* * *

Alan felt like a spy on some secret mission. His heart was pounding in his chest and he tried to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. As he walked toward the magic shop, he resisted the urge to keep his head down and instead made sure he was aware of his surroundings. Sam followed him without a care in the world. Edgar might be unhappy if he saw Sam going into the magic shop, but to see his brother disobeying the rules wold be...bad, to say the least.

He didn't relax until they were both through the heavy wooden door and inside. The bell rang as they entered, but the shop was already occupied by several kids he recognized from school. He made a mental note of who they were to report back to Edgar, and wondered what his brother would say if he added Sam's and his own name to the list.

Behind the desk, a girl with short black hair sat on a stool distractedly filing her nails. As they entered, she looked up briefly, took in their appearance and returned her attention to the obviously more pressing matter of her manicure.

Sam tugged at his shirt to remove any creases and shot a smile in her direction. Alan observed her complete lack of interest with amusement before heading over to the jars of herbs at the back of the store. Next to the jars stood an old set of weighing scales and some small plastic bags. He hesitated, wondering whether he was supposed to serve himself. When the girl continued to file her nails and Sam joined him at the back of the store wearing a disappointed expression, he opened a jar, used the scoop inside to place a small amount of herb into a bag, weighed it, and then repeated the procedure with four other jars.

Sam watched with his hands in his pockets. By the door, the other kids giggled as they picked up various things from the shelves and flicked through books. Alan carried his bags over to the desk and placed them in front of the girl. She finished the nail she was working on and examined it critically before she looked up. Alan watched surprise and then amusement flicker across her face. 

She smiled. “How about that. All the goth kids and wannabes we've had in here today and the first ones that seem to know what they're doing are Army Guy and Fashion Victim. Appearances do deceive, apparently.” She looked at Alan carefully. “You're not that kid from the comic store, are you?”

“Yeah.” Alan rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“Awesome. My grandfather told me about you. And your brother the one kid hate campaign. Hey, be careful with the sage, won't you, it's pretty potent.”

Alan grunted in the affirmative and thrust a couple of dollars in her direction.

She took his money and opened the cash register for change. “So, I'm pretty new in town,” she said, “You wouldn't happen to know what a girl can do for fun around here?” She handed him his change, allowing her hand to brush his as she did, she smiled and blinked her eyes a couple of times flirtatiously.

“Not really,” said Alan. “I think they all hang around in the mall in town,” He pocketed his change picked up his purchases and left.

Sam hung back, grinned at her apologetically, then shrugged and followed his friend.

Alan hesitated by the door before he went outside. Same came up behind him and waited for a few seconds. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually.

“You need to go out first. Check Edgar isn't around, then tell me if the coast is clear.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Pathetic,” he muttered, but did as he was asked. Finding the boardwalk completely devoid of sullen, bandanna wearing vampire hunters, he pushed the door open again behind him, “Come on, you're safe.”

Alan slipped outside and looked around to confirm that Edgar really wasn't there. “Lets go,” he said, “we'll have to do it at your house.”

They picked up their bikes that they had leaned against the shop window and peddled away.

* * *

“Okay...” He checked over the ingredients lined up in a row in front of him. They had everything they needed. Alan picked up the large bottle of table salt and began pour it out in the shape of a large circle of the floor of Sam's room.

“Is this part really necessary?”

“It says the circle contains and concentrates the magical energy,” Alan told him.

“Well, you're vacuuming it up.”

Alan finished pouring the salt in an almost perfect circle large enough for them both to sit comfortably inside. “Is the door locked?” he asked.

“It doesn't have a lock. Its closed.”

“Great. Well I'd rather have your brother walk in on us than mine.” He bit his lip and took a deep breath. On the ground in front of him lay the book, a small yellow flower cut from Sam's mom's garden, a small candle and a mixture of the herbs he had bought. “I feel ridiculous,” he said.

Sam smirked, “You look kind of ridiculous too.”

Alan lit the candle. He lay the book open on the ground at the right page. As it began to close itself, Sam reached over and held it open. Alan took a deep breath. Between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand, he picked up a small amount of powdered, dried sage. He leaned forward and read the words on the page aloud. They looked like Latin, but he had never been great at languages, for all he knew It could be Italian, or even Spanish. He read them phonetically, speaking slowly and hoping that pronunciation didn't matter too much. As he read, his eyes darted back and forth between the book and the candle.

As he spoke the last word, he sprinkled the herbs onto the flame. Thin, gray smoke drifted upwards. He picked up the flower and held it above the flame allowing the smoke to billow around it.

Sam, sat on the floor watching with fascination, waiting for something to happen. As Alan lifted the flower out of the smoke before the heat of the flame damaged it, the color slowly began to change. It started in the center and spread slowly to the outer parts of the petals, changing them from bright yellow to deep red. Sam's mouth dropped open as he watched.

Alan's face was a picture of serenity, eyes closed, completely calm. He remained like that, kneeling on the floor for several seconds before he opened his eyes, blinked twice, the looked at the flower in his hand. “Wow,” he said.

“I think that might be the coolest thing I've ever seen,” Sam told him.

Alan smiled, then frowned. “It felt strange,” he said.

“Like how?”

He frowned as he tried to think of a good way to describe it. “The book says this kind of magic is all about making connections between yourself and other things and manipulating the connections, but the connection was really intense. I know it sounds weird, but I could almost feel the petals changing. I willed them to do it and they did.”

Sam reached out and took the flower from Alan to examine it. “That does sound weird,” he said. “What if you were doing magic on a person, do you think the connection goes both ways?”

“I don't know. It might mention it later in the book, but I don't think we should try it.” He got to his feet and stretched his legs, “Your turn?”

“Definitely.” said Sam.

He sat down on the floor and attempted to duplicate Alan's actions. Nothing happened. 

Three attempts proved completely fruitless, Sam was unable to recreate the spell. Alan tried again and turned the flower sky blue. Sam almost growled as he dropped his flower into the flame of the candle. “Why isn't it working?”

“Well, you've managed to turn it black now,” Alan said as he picked up the charred flower and dropped it into the wastepaper bin. 

“I don't get it. I did exactly the same thing as you. Why can't I do it?”

Alan shrugged, “I don't know. Maybe we should ask someone in the magic store. I'm going back tomorrow to get the things I need for the next spell.”

“You're trying another one?” Sam smiled.

“I don't see the harm.”

“Maybe this guy'll have a book for me too.”

“I don't think it's the book,” Alan told him, “it must be something you're doing.”


	4. Chapter 4

Edgar had a detention the following day, so Alan walked with confidence into the magic store, safe in the knowledge that his brother was trapped at school regretting his argument with his literature teacher. They might know vampires didn't really turn into bats, but apparently that wasn't required knowledge in order to teach Dracula.

He noted with relief that the girl was absent today and store owner stood behind the counter adding up a column of figures on a sheet of paper. As Alan entered, he looked up and smiled, “Well, now. I was hoping you'd come by. What did you make of my book?”

Alan shrugged.

“Did you try any of the spells?”

He stepped closer and glanced around the shop to ensure there were no kids from school present before he answered. “Yeah, the first one.”

“Oh, the flower petals. One of my favorites. Not the one I would have expected you to choose, though. But then I suspect you started from the first page, didn't you? Very structured.” He shook his head, “Magic isn't structured. It's organic, it's about gut feelings and the invisible connections between all the matter in the universe.”

Alan thought of the spell, the way he had felt connected to the flower, how he had manipulated reality through that connection.

The old man smiled, “You felt it, didn't you?”

“I didn't feel anything.”

“Well, whether you were aware of it or not, the connection was there. You used it to complete the spell. Did it work?”

Alan nodded.

“Good, I thought it would. You're gifted, boy. I could see the talent in you the instant you walked into the store. I could feel it even before that, I knew there was someone like you close by.”

Alan rested his palms on the desk and leaned in towards the man so that he could lower his voice. “What do you mean like me?”

“Someone with the gift, of course. It's rare, though not as rare as you might believe. Those with the gift can be like you, already able to use it with just a nudge in the right direction, or like me and my granddaughter. Your brother too, if he wanted to try, though I suspect not. It took months of study before I could access the connections. But once you've done it...” his face lit up in what could only be described as an expression of pure joy, “Once you've done it, you never want to go back.”

“Wait.” Alan massaged his forehead just above his nose, “It sounds like you're saying this stuff is addictive.”

“Not at all. Humans do all kinds of things that make them feel good. Eating, drinking, sex, exercise. I suppose they all have the potential to become a problem, but for most people they don't.”

“And what about when they do?”

The man rested back on his stool and picked up his pen to continue adding up. “Well, that can cause a bit of a problem for the rest of us too. Which is why we need the good guys like you and I to keep them in check.”

Alan looked through the haze of incense hanging in the air to the jars at the other side of the store. He had come to buy supplies for another spell, but the prospect didn't seem quite so exciting right now as it did when he had walked inside. “You said my brother can do it too?”

The old man nodded, “The talent runs in families. You'll probably find one of your parents has it, and one of theirs.”

“So without this 'talent' you can't do anything magical? There can't be a huge market for what you're selling then. How many people can use anything in this place?”

He smiled, “More in this town than in many others. There is an energy here that attracts the gifted. Without realizing it, that might even be why your family settled here. But you're right, still remarkably few even here. Luckily there is no shortage of people willing to try.”

“Okay, look, thanks for the information. I'll see you around.” Alan turned to leave. An overload of unexpected information left his head spinning and he needed time to think. The incense in the air was making him dizzy. He needed to get outside.

“Wait a moment.” He paused half way to the door and turned slowly around.

The man was holding out another book, “Take this, it might prove interesting to you.”

Alan sighed and took the book. This one was a hardback. Heavy and obviously quite old. It wasn't going to fit inconspicuously in his pocket. “All right,” he shrugged, “Thanks.”

He headed out into the street with the book tucked under his arm and walked quickly home.

“What's this?”

Alan jumped and spun around quickly at the voice behind him. Edgar had somehow appeared as if from nowhere and was glaring at him accusingly.

“Um,” said Alan.

Edgar snatched the book from under his arm and read the title. “Magic and Magical Properties, a History of the Practice. Bedtime reading?”

“Research. I just thought it was a good idea to know what we're up against.”

“Oh.” Edgar handed the book back to him, “Well, that makes sense. But did you have to go and buy a book from the enemy?”

Alan resumed walking home, at a normal pace now there was no need to hide. “I didn't. He gave it to me.”

“What?” Edgar stopped dead and stared at his brother, “You took a gift from him?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Well. Just. I don't know.” Edgar scratched his chin and shrugged. “It just doesn't sound like a good idea, that's all.”

Alan shook his head and walked away, leaving Edgar with no choice but to follow him. “Well, if it says anything in here about that being dangerous, I'll give it back.”

“No,” Edgar sped up and as they reached home, wedged himself in the doorway barring Alan's entrance. “Give it back now.”

“Edgar...”

“Why would he just hand over something like that? He must have some reason, and I doubt it's good. Give it back.”

Alan elbowed his brother out of the door and pushed his way inside. “I want to learn as much as I can about it. You can't tell me you'd rather be ignorant than have information you might be able to use. Anyway, he's doing exactly what we do, the only difference is that we give away comic books.”

“And that we're not magical freaks.”

Alan stared at his brother for a moment as his mind flashed back to what the old man had told him. Talented. The talent ran in families. Unless the guy had been messing with him for some reason, Edgar was wrong about that particular difference.

“What?” asked Edgar. Alan snapped back to the moment and registered mild concern in his brother's eyes. “What are you thinking?”

He shook his head. “We need to know as much about this as possible, and if he's willing to provide that information that's a bonus.”

Edgar sighed, “Fine, read away. But be careful.”

Alan took the book and fled upstairs to his room. As he closed the door he sighed in relief at a bullet dodged. He dropped it onto his desk, sat down on the bed with a comic book and tried to read.

Concentration eluded him. Stray thoughts popped unbidden into his head. The conversation with the man from the magic store repeated itself over and over in his mind as he tried to come up with a way to interpret it differently. Preferably one that didn't end with him knowing something he wished he didn't.

The book taunted him from it's position on the desk. He wanted to read it, but at the same time, he wanted to follow Edgar's advice to give it back. Maybe this was how the magic got to you, a bit at a time. It starts out harmless, but over time you get deeper and deeper until before you know it, you've gone too far. Or maybe that was just Edgar talking. 

With a sigh of defeat, he places his comic back into it's bag, placed it on his pile of things to read, and opened up the heavy magic book.

* * *

The following night, Alan sat on the floor in Sam's bedroom, the book in front of him, reading.

Sam sighed, “If Edgar knows about the book, how come you're still sneaking around hiding stuff from him? Because it's really putting a dent in my social life. I could be out on a date right now.”

“Really?” Alan glanced up for a microsecond before turning his attention back to the book.

“Well, no, maybe not tonight. But you could. That goth chick in the magic store seemed really into you.” A thoughtful expression crossed his face and he smiled, “Hey, that's not the real reason why you're researching this magic stuff, is it? Because I think she already digs you.”

Alan closed the book and looked at Sam, who was sitting on his bed flicking through the latest issue of Uncanny X-Men. “Her grandfather says I'm some kind of wizard or something. I've got a bit more on my mind than girls at the moment.”

“Practitioner, you said that's what they're called. Not wizard.”

“Whatever they're called, I don't want to be one.”

Sam shrugged, “Well I think it's cool. If I could do magic, I'd be doing all kinds of fun stuff, not sitting around reading some dusty old book. Anyway, back to my original question, why can't you do this at home?”

“I don't want to bring Edgar into it any further than he already is.”

“Okay.” Sam frowned, “How far in is he? I thought he'd run a mile from this.”

Alan fished in his pocket and retrieved a scrap of paper which he shoved into the book as a page marker, then closed it carefully. “He would,” he said. “That's why I'm not telling him about doing the spell, or about me being – talented – as the guy called it.”

Sam looked at Alan carefully, then said with concern, “This is really bothering you, isn't it?”

“Of course it it. Edgar and I fight the supernatural. It's one thing learning about magic and trying a few spells, it's something completely different to find out you're some kind of supernatural freak from a family of wizards. Surely you can understand that?”

“Wait. Family of? So, your parents?”

Alan shrugged, “Probably one of them, I don't know. They probably don't know either. Apparently it runs in families though.”

“So, what about Edgar?”

“No,” Alan lied. He shook his head. “Just me.”

Sam put his comic down and swung his legs around so he was facing Alan, “Look, I don't think you have anything to worry about. So you can do something that other people can't. Lots of people have things they're good at that other people can't do.”

“Not things like this though. I think Edgar's right about it being dangerous. There's some pretty gruesome stuff in this book. Murder, ritual sacrifice. Edgar said magic corrupts, and I think he's right. Maybe not the magic itself, but the things that you can do using it. There were people who killed other magicians – practitioners – and took their power to make themselves stronger. If the old man wants me to learn magic, I don't know why he'd let me read this.”

Sam listened thoughtfully. “Maybe he wants you to know everything from the start,” he said. “Or maybe he wants to show you what he's up against so you want to help. These power stealing guys, do you think they're still around today?”

“I don't know.” Alan closed the book, picked it up and got to his feet. “I don't think I want to. I'm done with it. I'll tell Edgar there was nothing interesting in the book and throw it out. He'd never forgive me if I started doing magic anyway.”

“Better not tell him you already have, then.” Sam told muttered.

“Sam, you're not going to tell him, are you? Not anything I've told you, not even by accident.” A stab of fear at the idea jabbed at his stomach. He wasn't afraid of Edgar, but the idea of losing his brother's respect was terrifying. They were a team, they had to stick together.

“Of course not! What do you think I am? Just for the record though, I do think you're certifiably insane for passing up this chance. You're one of the good guys, you're not going to start sacrificing people. You could use it to do some good.”

Alan shook his head, “Edgar was right. It's dangerous.” He shoved the book into his backpack, closed it as far as he could manage, and left.

Sam shrugged to himself and turned his attention back to his comic book.


	5. Chapter 5

Anthony grunted quietly as he got to his feet. It seemed like only yesterday he had been a sprightly teenager just like the boy from the comic store. A whole world of discoveries stretched out in front of him. Now there was still so much to discover, but he was an old man, running out of time. He would have to leave it to the next generation. His granddaughter had an impressive talent. The boy, Alan, too. As would his brother, but Anthony held out little hope of convincing him to start out down the path. If anything, he was going to hold Alan back.

His legs ached as he walked to the door and locked up for the night. Upstairs, he could hear Sophie moving around. The smell of roast chicken drifted down temptingly and his stomach growled in appreciation.

Sophie was taking the dinner out of the oven and placing it on plates by the time he arrived in the kitchen. “My favorite,” he said.

“Well, you've been working so hard, I thought you deserved a treat.”

Anthony smiled as he sat down to eat. “So, it's your first day of school on Monday. Are you looking forward to it?”

She shrugged, “Gotta say, not so much. Are you sure you don't want me to stay back and help in the store? It's coming up to summer, the tourists are going to be all over us. No offense, grandpa, but are you sure you can keep up with them?”

He laughed, “There's life in me yet, Soph. You need to learn, finish school, go to college.”

“I'm already learning everything I need from you. I'm not going to college, I'm going into the Practice.”

“Oh, Sophie, we've talked about this.”

“Yeah, and I decided that's what I want. There's nothing for me in that world. This is what I love.”

Anthony sighed. “Well, for the time being, I'm still in charge. You might refuse to go to college, but I insist you attend school.”

Sophie tucked her her hair behind an ear and pouted. “Fine, Grandad. It'll give me a chance to get to know this kid you're so interested in. Does he really have that much potential?”

“Yes, though until I can work with him, I won't know for certain how much.” He sighed, “My strength isn't what it was, it isn't as easy for me to sense power as it used to be. But those who manage to unlock the talent for themselves are usually stronger than those of us who needed to be shown the way. He could be a powerful force for good. If his brother doesn't hold him back.”

“I hate that guy,” Sophie grimaced.

Anthony smiled, “The irony is that his brother has the talent too. Not unlocked yet, but definitely strong.”

Sophie licked her lips. “Really? Well, that's interesting.”

* * *

Even in the so-called murder capital of the world, news of a body washing up on the beach spreads fast. Especially when it has what looks like ritual markings carved into it's chest. And especially when it is found by two kids. The school was alive with gossip by mid morning.

Edgar leaned against the lockers, tapping his finger impatiently as Sam swapped history books for science and checked his hair in the mirror stuck on the inside of the door. Alan stood more calmly, waiting.

“This body has to be connected to the magic store,” Edgar said. “There was a pentagram carved into his chest.”

“I heard it was a bunch of runes or something.” Sam told him.

“Maybe it was both. The point it, it can't be a coincidence. That warlock guy is involved.”

Sam glanced at Alan, but the other Frog appeared uncharacteristically silent on the matter. Edgar appeared not to notice as he plowed ahead with his rant.

“It could be a coincidence,” Sam told him. “I mean, that's what a coincidence is, isn't it? Two things happening at the same time that aren't connected but it seems like they should be. This might have happened without the magic store opening.”

“Maybe it would have done,” Edgar agreed. “If the warlock moved to Santa Carla and opened an evil bakery or something instead of a magic store to keep him busy between murders.”

“They don't call themselves warlocks or wizards or anything like that,” Alan said. “It's just Practitioners.”

Edgar shrugged, “Fine, they can call themselves whatever they like. I call them warlocks. And we need to get rid of them before more bodies wash up.”

“How are we going to do that?” Alan asked.

“I'll think of something.”

* * *

The kid was never alone. It was so irritating. It wasn't like he was constantly surrounded by a group of friends like some of the popular kids, that would be better, she could tempt him away easily enough. But he was always with his brother, and this wasn't a discussion Sophie wanted him in on.

She waited almost all day until she finally found him walking to class without his escort. Then she sidled over to him and smiled.

Alan stopped walking and looked at her in surprise “Uh, hey,” he said eventually.

“Hi,” Sophie smiled. “Where's your shadow?”

Alan frowned. “If you're accusing me of being a vampire, that myth isn't true. And it's daylight.”

“And you've been in our store. It's warded so vampires can't enter. Relax, I meant your brother. I was beginning to think you were joined by an invisible string or something, he never seems to be more than a few feet away from you.”

“Edgar's in a different English class to me,” he explained, then attempted to step past her and to his lesson.

“English, huh?” She shrugged, “You already seem to speak English.”

Alan half smiled at the bad joke, then dodged past her and walked quickly down the corridor.

“Oh, come on!” She ran after him and grabbed his shoulder. He stopped and turned around. “I'm just trying to talk to you, you don't have to be so rude.”

He sighed, “You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Great, so how about you make it up to me? I saw a nice looking coffee shop not far away, buy me a cappuccino.”

Alan shook his head, “Now? We're in school.”

“So? You're already late for your class. We established that you already speak the language, so what's the harm?”

“Fine,” Alan adjusted his beret and marched away quickly in the direction of the doors.

Sophie hurried after him again, “What's the hurry?”

“When skipping out of school, the trick is to look as purposeful as you can. Trying not to be noticed, glancing around furtively, that draws attention to you. Follow my lead.”

“Oh,” Sophie giggled and tried to emulate his confident stride, “You've done this before.”

“Well, no. But the same principle applies in any situation where you don't want to be noticed.” They walked through the doors and outside without so much as a glance from a single staff member. Once they cleared the school grounds, he took a deep breath. “Made it.”

Sophie linked her arm in his, “You make it sound like we were breaking out of prison. Have you seriously never skipped a class before?”

“Not in the middle of the day. I've skipped whole days – only in the line of duty of course – but that doesn't involve escaping.”

They strolled slowly to the coffee shop. Alan tried to relax, but Sophie's close proximity made him incredibly uncomfortable. It wasn't that she was unattractive, quite the opposite, but she represented the thing about himself that scared him, and right now she was too close for comfort. Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to, he couldn't bring himself to push her away.

The coffee shop was empty, which wasn't surprising for a place away from the boardwalk and the main areas of town on a Monday afternoon before the tourist season started. They chose a table by the window and Sophie ordered her cappuccino.

The waitress looked at Alan for his order and he shrugged, “The same, I guess,” he said. As the woman walked away, he looked at Sophie and shrugged, “I have no idea what a cappuccino is,” he confessed.

Sophie laughed, “You'll like it,” she promised. “So, my grandad gave you some books. What did you think.”

He frowned, “I thought that was what you wanted to talk about. It's interesting, but I don't want to be a part of it. I like my life as it is, I don't want to be... that.”

“Well,” Sophie crossed her arms, “that's a little insulting.”

“It wasn't meant to be. It's just that we, me and Edgar, we're vampire hunters. We fight the monsters, we don't... I mean, I don't want to...” he felt the blood rushing to his face and sweat beginning to seep out of every pore. He waved an arm in front of himself as though he could erase the last minute. “I'm sorry,” he said.

Sophie shrugged, “Don't be. In our line of work, we're used to it. Anyway as it happens I know exactly what you mean. Everything supernatural you've encountered so far has been evil, and you hunt it, right?”

Alan nodded.

“Well, there are plenty of evil Practitioners out there too, if that makes you feel any better.”

They both hushed as the waitress brought over their coffees and waited until she was gone until they continued talking.

“No, it really doesn't.”

Sophie stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into her cup and breathed in the aroma appreciatively. “It shouldn't, they're not good people. I was eight when I found out about magic. A man came to my house and killed both my parents. It turned out they were Practitioners, he took their power to make himself stronger. He only left me alive because my powers weren't unlocked yet. He told me that when they were, he'd come back.”

Alan listened, unable to think of anything to say. Sophie took a sip of her coffee and licked the foam from her top lip.

“My Grandad took me in. For the longest time I was terrified of magic, I was sure that as soon as I used it, he'd come and kill us both. But eventually I started to understand that if I could learn and become skilled enough, if he ever did come back, I could help to fight him.”

“Did he? Come back, I mean?”

She shrugged, “There's someone out there. We don't know if it's the same guy, but he seems to follow us around. That's how come we don't stay in the same place for very long. But with you and your brother on our side, maybe we could finally beat him. And until we don't, by the way, you're in danger too.”

Alan massaged his forehead with the fingers of one hand, then took a tentative sip of his coffee. “Me and my brother? You want to drag Edgar into this as well?”

“Of course.”

“But your grandfather said Edgar's power isn't... switched on, or something. Doesn't that mean he's not in any danger?”

Sophie nodded, “But my granddad's a great teacher, and he can unlock power. Not everyone can do that, but it saves years of study. You could both be ready to fight in a few months.”

“No,” Alan shook his head, “I don't want Edgar involved. If he's in no danger at the moment, he needs to stay that way.”

“Have you even told him about the magic?”

“I don't want him involved,” Alan repeated.

“You're ashamed, aren't you? It's not that you're scared, or that you don't understand. You hate the supernatural, and now you know you're a part of it, you're ashamed. You don't want anyone to know. That includes your brother even though he's part of it too.” She smiled. “You're trying to protect him.”

“I'm doing exactly what he would do for me.”

“Denying him the opportunity to make his own decisions?”

“Yes. He's been doing that to me for years. I don't really want myself involved either, but maybe I don't have a choice. Either way, leave my brother out of it. I mean it.” He stood up, leaving his almost untouched coffee on the table.

“I need both of you,” Sophie told him.

Alan pulled five dollars out of his pocket and put it on the table, “I said I'd buy you a coffee, I did. Now leave me alone.”

Sophie pressed her lips together in irritation and reached into her own pocket. Before Alan could react, she threw some kind of powder in his face and muttered a few words that he couldn't make out.

“What the hell?” Alan brushed the powder off of his face and used his beret to beat it from his clothes. “What was that?”

“Acne spell,” she said with a smirk, “I'll take it off when you talk your brother into helping us.”

Alan shook his head and left as quickly as he could. He had the overwhelming urge to go home and take a shower.

* * *

Alan turned the mirror toward the light and looked for signs of pimples. There were definitely a few bumps forming on his chin, but he couldn't remember whether they were there this morning.

“What happened to you today?”

He turned to see Edgar standing in the doorway to his bedroom.

“And what are you doing? Squeezing pimples?”

“No. I didn't feel well, I came home early.”

Edgar walked in and sat on the bed, “You look fine now. What was it, Englishclassitis? You could have told me, I'd have skipped with you.”

“I didn't skip. I didn't feel well, and I still don't. Can you just go away, Edgar? Please?”

“Fine,” Edgar stood up and walked out the door, “I'll take surveillance duty tonight, but you owe me.”

Alan shrugged, not in the mood to argue. As Edgar disappeared down the stairs, he locked the door, retrieved the magic books from under the bed and started to read.


	6. Chapter 6

Alan lay on his bed, propped up by his elbows. He flicked idly through the large book leaning against his pillow. He had read it through once already, and a second look didn't provide any new information. The language was old fashioned and flowery in a way that made him think of the English class he had skipped that afternoon, where he was supposed to be studying Shakespeare. Complicated and frustrating too, but at least he would have avoided the unpleasant encounter with Sophie.

The silence in the room was broken as his stomach growled loudly and he realized that he hadn't eaten since the slice of pizza he had inhaled for breakfast. With a sigh, he rolled off the bed, pushed the two books underneath, among the garlic and the comic books, and went down to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a small room that could be reached by walking through the door that separated the shop from the living area of the building. Most shops on the boardwalk probably used that room for storage, but with only three rooms and a bathroom upstairs, a family needing three bedrooms had no choice but to do some of their living downstairs. The alternative was for him to share with Edgar, and although that had been fine when they were kids, Edgar snored at an almost inhuman volume. After the night when Alan had woken up confused from a nightmare in the early hours of the morning and thumped him in the nose, their parents had decided to separate them.

It was a good thing, Alan thought, because he didn't know whether he had done some permanent damage to his brother that night, but ever since then his snores were so loud they still frequently woke Alan even from the adjacent room. Sometimes Alan wondered whether his brother was asleep at all. He imagined him wide away, face pressed against the wall, making the sound deliberately, over and over with a grin on his face. All this, of course, had been back when their parents were still conscious and coherent often enough to care that there was a problem. 

Some days now they barely seemed to notice their sons at all. Edgar was his only real family. And right now, Edgar was in the way. Alan had to get into the magic shop, he needed to talk to Anthony.

In the kitchen, he inspected the bread, thew out the two moldy slices at the top and made a mental note to buy more, then he made himself a ham sandwich, and threw in a few slices of tomato for good measure. Then, on a whim, he made one for Edgar too.

He dropped onto the beaten up couch that stood against the staircase, and wolfed down his dinner. He left the second sandwich on a plate in the middle of the table, and went out through the back door to avoid his parents who were watching the shop alone for a change. He didn't want to walk though and find them asleep with the cash register open again, or he would feel obligated to stay.

The night air was cool and fresh after stuffiness of the house. He moved quickly along the boardwalk, dodging from left to right as he avoided the slow moving groups enjoying an evening stroll or heading out to their favorite bar with the instinctual ease of someone who had grown up navigating crowds without being a part of them.

He sighted Edgar easily, standing guard in his usual spot directly opposite the shop. He leaned on the wall, with his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his camouflage pants, staring intently at the place as though he had the ability to make it disappear if only he could want it enough. Clearly, it wasn't working. Alan watched him for a moment, unnoticed, before he took a deep breath and approached.

Edgar glanced away from his target for a moment to register his brother's appearance with a curt nod, then immediately resumed his original stance.

“Sorry,” Alan told him. “About earlier.”

No response.

“I made you a sandwich.”

Edgar turned toward him, taking his eyes off of the store for another few microseconds, long enough to glance him over and register the lack of a sandwich. “Is it invisible?”

“No, it's at home in the kitchen. I'll take over here.”

“I've started noticing patterns,” Edgar told him. “We're getting repeat visitors, sometimes the same people on the same days.”

Alan shrugged, “Everywhere gets repeat customers.”

“But people coming here more than a few times are likely to be witches. Now we know who they are.”

Alan bit his lip and wondered how many visits were required to make someone a potential witch. He would almost certainly be included on the list if he wasn't saved by the fact that Edgar trusted him and that he had been careful. “How much longer are we going to have to do this?” he asked.

“As long as it takes. Sooner or later, we'll get proof that these people are connected to the murder. Then we can go to the police and get them shut down.”

“I thought you said all the higher up cops were werewolves. Why would they help?”

Edgar frowned for a moment, as though he had forgotten his own theory, and then shrugged, “Not all of them, just some. We can go at night during a full moon so we know we're talking to a human. Anyway, for all we know werewolves might hate warlocks as much as we do.”

Alan turned around and leaned against the wall next to his brother, and began to watch the door to the shop. “Go home, Edgar, it's supposed to be my watch tonight.”

After one final hate filled glare at the door to the shop, Edgar nodded, “Okay, I'll go get that sandwich. Be careful. There's a girl who works in there, I saw her at school today, and I think she was following us around.”

Alan shuddered, “I saw her too. Believe me, I'll definitely avoid her.”

Edgar nodded and left. Alan watched him go. In contrast to the way that he would sidestep to avoid the crowds walking in the other direction, Edgar simply plowed through them. He watched his brother disappear into the teeming masses that populated the boardwalk by night. Once he was out of sight, Alan waited a few minutes to be safe, then counted slowly to a hundred. When he was sure Edgar wasn't coming back, he glanced quickly from left to right, looking for anyone that might know him, and then walked into the shop.

To his relief, Sophie was nowhere to be seen. As the wooden door hit the bell, the old man sitting behind the counter looked up from his book and smiled.

“I was worried you wouldn't come back.”

Alan shrugged, “Your granddaughter told me this place is warded against vampires. Is that true?”

Anthony nodded. “Horrible creatures. I invented the spell myself.”

“Could you do it for us? For our house?”

“I can do better than that, I can teach you to do it yourself.”

“No,” Alan shook his head, “I don't want to do that.”

Anthony took a deep breath and sighed loudly. “It's been a slow night,” he said. “I think I'll close up early. Could I interest you in a cup of coffee? Or a glass of Coke, maybe?”

“I don't want to learn magic,” Alan blurted. He felt heat rush to his face and hoped that the blush wasn't too visible in the dim light, “That is... I mean, I don't think it's a good idea.”

Anthony smiled, “I offered you a drink, not a lesson.”

Alan sighed, “Sure, why not?” He watched with the tiniest hint of apprehension as the old man locked the door and pocketed the keys, essentially trapping him in the shop.

“Oh, don't worry. The back door is unlocked, and I have no intention of keeping you here longer than you want to stay. I need my rest. I don't have the energy for kidnapping.”

As the old man disappeared into the back room and Alan listened to the sound of a boiling kettle, he looked around the shop, located a stool by the window and dragged it over to the cash desk. By the time Anthony re-emerged and placed a glass of cola on the desk, Alan was idly flicking through a book from the shelf. He quickly put it down.

“So,” said Anthony, “Sophie told me what happened today. She sends her apologies.”

“She did some kind of spell on me,” Alan told him. He frowned at the memory and subconsciously ran a finger across the skin of his face, checking for any evidence that the curse had started to work.

Anthony smiled, “She told me all about it. In fact, all she did was throw sherbert over you and mutter a few nonsense words. It's one of her favorite tricks, unfortunately. There are no spells on you, I'd sense it if there were.”

“Oh. Good.” He spun his glass slowly on the table, and watched the pattern that the condensation made on the wood. “What about the stuff she told me about the people that kill and steal power, was that true? The book made it seem like it was all history.”

“Unfortunately, yes. They are real, and Sophie and I seem to have attracted the attention of one of them. The first body washed up this morning. You probably heard already?”

Alan nodded , “Edgar thinks it's you.”

“I think your brother would blame me for the weather if he could think of a way.”

“You have to admit it looks pretty suspicious. You turn up and a week later someone's killed by magic.”

Anthony calmly took a sip of his coffee and a calm, deep breath before he replied. “You wouldn't be here if you thought I was responsible. I'm sure by now you've realized you could be a target for this killer. If you thought it was me, you'd would be insane to be alone here. You're here because you want to learn to defend yourself.”

“Actually, I'm here for assurances that you and Sophie will leave us alone.”

“What do you think we're going to do to you?”

He hesitated before answering. Giving away too much might provide to old man with something he could use against him, to coerce him into learning magic. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to have a choice, he needed an assurance, “I think Sophie's going to tell Edgar everything, and I don't want him to know.”

Anthony nodded, “Understandable. I have no intention of telling your brother anything. The less he knows, the safer he will be,”

“Oh.” Alan frowned, “but Sophie wants to tell him, she wants me to convince him to learn magic so we can all fight off this murderer together.”

“Sophie has different ideas about how we should confront our problems. You, unfortunately, have little choice, You are involved, and if we're being watched, he probably knows about you too. Until Edgar's power is unlocked, there would be nothing to gain from harming him. The ability to unlock power is a very subtle magic, almost definitely beyond the capabilities of our killer, meaning at the moment your brother is safe. But whether you want to or not, you should learn to defend yourself.”

Alan drained his glass and set it down on the desk, “I can defend myself fine already.”

“I'm sure you can, but you've never come up against this kind of enemy before. I can teach you things that you can use to keep yourself safe. If you don't learn, he could kill you before you even realize what's happening.”

“What about Sophie's parents? It didn't help them very much.”

Anthony sighed and suddenly looked very tired, “My daughter and her husband had turned their backs on our way of life. They thought it would be better for their daughter. I wish I could have respected their wishes, but she needed to be able to defend herself. As do you.”

Alan pushed his empty glass away and stood up. “I'll think about it,” he said, “I won't make any promises, but I'll definitely think about it.”

Anthony got to his feet and followed Alan to the door to unlock it, “I'm sorry,” he told him as he turned the key, “If I'd realized we were still being followed, I would never have approached you.”

* * *

Edgar gave his parents an irritated glance as he walked into the shop. They sat behind the cash desk, his father leaning against the wall, his mother against her husband's chest. His mother's eyes opened as he passed and she gave him a smile before she drifted back into unconsciousness. He sighed and looked around the shop, they had no customers right now, and he wasn't in the mood to work. He reached into his pocket for his keys, locked the front door and walked past his parents on his way into the back. As he did, he picked up a large box from the floor and dropped onto the desk, it landed with a loud bang and barely disturbed them. Edgar shrugged. It looked like they were settled for the night.

He grabbed some of the latest issues, picked up his sandwich from the table and went upstairs to wait for Alan. N the way past his brother's room, he noticed that the door was ajar. He stopped at the threshold to the room. They had no secrets between them. Since they had moved into separate rooms, they had each treated the other room as an extension of their own. They usually slept in their own beds, but at all other times, if he was looking for Alan he was as likely to find him in one bedroom as the other. But today, for some reason that he couldn't quite put his finger on, Edgar found himself hesitating before he entered.

He shook his head in bemusement, trying to banish the strange feeling, then pushed the door open and went inside. He scanned the room quickly, looking for the magic book. He didn't want it in his house, but Alan had made a good point about understanding the enemy, and Edgar wanted the same advantage.

He checked the desk, the bookshelf and the pile of books on the floor, it wasn't among them. Puzzled, he tried to think of where he might hide something. He dropped to his knees and looked under the bed. Sure enough, there was a pile of books under there among lost comic books, cloves of garlic and an empty water pistol. He smirked to himself. Other teenage boys might hide a couple of copies of playboy, but not Alan. He reached under the bed and dragged out everything he could reach.

Edgar looked at the pile of stuff. It included a few random books that had probably been kicked under there by accident, the magic book, and something else. Edgar's eyes narrowed as he read the title. Another magic book. A warning flashed in his brain, something was very wrong.

Reluctantly, knowing he had no choice, he opened the second book to a page somewhere in the middle and began to read. Eyes widened in realization. Alan had two magic books, and this one had spells in it. Closing the book and putting it aside for the moment, he lay face down on the floor and reached further under the bed with his hand swinging like a pendulum from side to side, praying that he wouldn't find anything else. It hit a plastic bag. He grabbed it and pulled it out.

There was some kind of dried plant leaves in the bag. The hopeful part of his brain suggested that Alan might have borrowed some of their parents' stash, but the more rational part knew that his brother would never deliberately impair his fighting ability like that. Besides, it didn't look like weed. He opened the bag and sniffed experimentally. It didn't smell like it either.

He sealed the bag, grabbed the spell book and ran out of the room and down the stairs. He left the back door swinging open behind him as he sprinted back to the magic store to confront his brother. There was a rational explanation for this. There had to be.

Edgar ignored the boardwalk crowds as he ran, forcing them to jump out of his way or risk an injury. Any that dodged too slowly earned a growl of anger and a warning glare telling them to be quicker next time. As he approached the magic store, his eyes darted around quickly, looking for Alan among the crowd. He wasn't there. A feeling of dread began to seep into his stomach and he increased his speed further still, heading for the door. If the warlock had done anything to his brother, he was going to kill him.

Before he could reach it, the door opened. Edgar stopped dead in his tracks and watched. Alan stepped out onto the boardwalk. He turned and said something to someone inside, and then he door closed behind him. Edgar's stomach was churning as he hurried over.

When he saw his brother marching toward him, Alan's eyes went wide with shock.

“You'd better have a damn good explanation for this, Alan.”

Only then did Alan appear to notice the book in one of Edgar's hands and the bag of herbs in the other. When he did, his face took on a deer in the headlights expression.

“Explain. Now.”

Alan took a step backwards and held his hands up, palms outward, “Ed, calm down.”

“What are you doing in the magic store? And more importantly, why the hell do you have this crap in your room?” Edgar threw the book as hard as he could, it hit the wall of the store and fell to the ground near Alan's feet.

Alan tried to think of an explanation that wouldn't send Edgar into a further rage, but nothing came to mind. It wouldn't make any difference anyway, when he got in this mood, he wouldn't listen to anything but the sound of his own anger. Alan bent down, grabbed the book, then turned and ran in the opposite direction as quickly as he could.

* * *

It took Edgar a few seconds to process what was happening. By then, Alan was several paces away down the boardwalk. He took off after him, his muscles protested at another sprint so soon after the last one, but he ran through the cramp and chased his brother down the boardwalk through crowds of staring tourists.

When he reached the end of the boardwalk, Alan jumped down the steps onto the beach and carried on along the sand. Alan had the advantage of not having just ran from home to the magic store, and so managed to put some distance between then quickly. However as the chase continued, he began to tire and Edgar's better stamina allowed him to close the gap.

When Alan eventually stopped and rested, almost doubled over with his hands resting on his thighs as he gasped for air, Edgar was almost on him. Realizing the chase was over, Edgar allowed himself to drop onto the damp sand and enjoy a few moments of breathing deeply, recovering. When he was able to speak again, he glared at his brother. “What the hell?”

Alan didn't reply, he straightened up an for a second, Edgar thought he was about to start running again. Instead, he dropped onto the sand next to him, still breathing heavily.

“Alan, what's going on? Why'd you run?”

Alan spoke between gasps for breath. “Tire you out,” gasp.

“Yeah, you managed that alright. But you look worse than me.”

“Had to,” gasp, “calm you down.”

“Oh.” Edgar waited, giving his brother time to recover. As his breathing began to slow, he started to get impatient. “Okay, I'm calm. Explain.”

Alan lay back, allowing the moisture in the sand to soak through his shirt and cool his skin. “It's a long story,” he said.

“I don't care. Tell.”

Alan did. There was no point lying, Edgar would know, and he couldn't think of a believable story anyway. He omitted the part about Edgar supposedly having the same magical ability, justifying it to himself by the fact that he had seen no evidence. For all he knew, the old man could be mistaken.

Edgar listened as in the distance on the boardwalk, lights began to go out and the attractions began to close for the night. As Alan spoke, he looked out to sea, watching by the moonlight the small waves of the receding tide breaking on the shore. When he finished, he turned and looked at his brother. Edgar tried to think of a response.

“Well?” Alan asked.

“Well what?”

“Aren't you going to say anything?”

Edgar shrugged. His fingers burrowed into the wet sand and for a few seconds he still said nothing. “This guy's obviously taking you for a ride,” he decided eventually.

“That's what I thought at first. But it makes sense. When Sam and I tried the spell-”

“We're going to talk more about that later,” Edgar interrupted. “What the hell were you thinking, messing around the magic? I'd expect it of Sam, he's new to this, but you should know better.”

“When we tried the spell,” he said again, “Sam couldn't do it, I could. If I have this ability, that makes sense.”

Edgar bit his lip, “Look, you're nuts for trying it, and maybe you do have a knack for it or whatever, but that doesn't mean you've got some 'ability'. You're not some warlock freak, okay?”

Alan nodded.

“But the fact that this spell worked, that doesn't mean the guy in the shop isn't the murderer.”

“If he was, why wouldn't he have killed me already? And his granddaughter, for that matter.”

“Maybe she's the murderer. She hasn't killed him because she needs him, and maybe she hasn't gotten around to killing you yet. We'll keep her under close observation, and I don't want you alone from now on, stay with either me or Sam at all times.”

Alan closed his eyes, the adrenaline from the run was filtering out of his bloodstream, leaving him exhausted. He shook his head. “The murderer killed her parents when she was a kid, he's been around a lot longer than her.”

“Then maybe...” Edgar sighed, “Shit, I don't know. There's something else going on here. They're tricking you for a reason.”

“Maybe they're not tricking me at all.”

Edgar reluctantly got to his feet and brushed sand from his clothing, “No more magic.” he said. “No more magic books, no more visits to the magic store to have cocoa with the warlock. If they've got someone out to get them, let him get them. It'd solve all our problems if he did.”

He offered a hand to Alan who ignored it and stood up himself. “If there's someone out there after them, he's coming for me too,” he said. “The old man said I need to be able to defend myself.”

“Using magic?”

Alan nodded.

“No way. You made a mistake once. Stupid, but forgivable. But you can't do it again, Alan. Not ever. You understand me?”

“Yeah, I do. I told him I'd think about it, but I'm going to tell him no.”

Edgar smiled grimly, “Good. Now lets get home and forget all about this, okay?”

Without waiting for a response, he began to walk down the beach back to the boardwalk. Alan hesitated a few seconds, before following after him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you have anything else?”

Alan shook his head. The two books and the one remaining bag of herbs represented the total of everything magical in his possession.

“What about at Sam's house? Did you leave anything there?”

“No, this is all of it.”

Edgar nodded, satisfied. He picked up the books carefully, as though he thought they might somehow seep magic through the covers and into his skin, and dropped them into a bag before he backed out of the door to Alan's room and ran quickly down the stairs.

Alan followed him out of the room and leaned over the banister to call after him as he disappeared out of sight, “What are you going to do with them?”

“Take them back to Witches R Us.” Edgar said. “I hope they've got a returns policy.”

Alan heard the door slam. He went back in his room and sat down on the bed. All things considered, that hadn't gone too badly. Edgar had reacted better than he had expected. He wondered whether he had underestimated his brother.

* * *

The Practitioner sat cross legged on the ground. The circle was cast mentally, more experience reduced the need to draw an actual circle on the ground as long as the idea of one could be held firmly in one's head throughout the spell. The shimmer of magic filled the circle, raising the hairs on the Practitioner's arms like static electricity.

The candle's flame burned blue as the chant began. The connection had been established earlier, it was simply a matter of completing the spell. The words muttered quietly had as much power as when spoken loudly as long as the intention was strong. It was a difficult spell, a joining of two minds without the knowledge of the second person. But the Practitioner was skilled and well practiced, and within minutes closed eyes began to receive images.

The boy's bedroom was small and sparsely decorated; a bed, a desk and a bookshelf. Boxes of comic books lined the walls. The wallpaper was old and beginning to peel in the corners, as though the room had once been lovingly decorated by someone who had then forgotten all about it.

The small shelf was piled high with heavy looking books. Where he had run out of space, he had begun to pile them on the ground. He glimpsed some of the titles out of the corner of his eye as he walked across the room, but allowed the Practitioner no opportunity to inspect them more carefully. Still it was a good guess that they contained nonfiction books supplying information on vampire legends, probably werewolves and other creatures too.

At a glance, it didn't look much different to the bedroom of the average teenage boy, but closer inspection revealed things that seemed out of place. A wooden stake protruded from underneath the bed, two bulbs of garlic sat on the desk next to his unfinished homework, and a flask of what may or may not be holy water was stored next to a green water pistol on the bookshelf.

He gave himself a quick look in the mirror, providing the practitioner with a glimpse of his face. He looked tired, and without the ever present beret, younger somehow. His hair was a mess. He didn't bother to straighten it before he got into bed and turned out the light.

Everything went black and remained that way. The practitioner broke the spell and vision returned. Success. Nothing of value yet learned, but now the spell was complete it could be returned at at will. The boy would unknowingly reveal everything about his brother, and when his power was released, the Practitioner would feast.

Until then, patience was required. To take Alan's power now was so tempting, but holding out until the brother's was accessible too would twice as rewarding. Until then, Alan needed to be alive.

* * *

Edgar hesitated at the door to the magic store. His intention had been simply to leave the books on the doorstep for the old man to find the following morning. As he arrived, however, there were still people around. One of them could pick up the books, and read them. He didn't want to inadvertently unleash another evil warlock on the town

If the buildings at this end of the boardwalk were anything like their own, there would be no back yard or garden at the the other side of the property whose wall he could toss them over. He could go around the back and leave them on the step of the other door, but while that would reduce the chances of them being found, it wouldn't eliminate them.

He had no intention of leaving the books under his own roof for another night. They had done enough damage already. That left him with only one other option. His hand froze an inch from the doorbell and it took a real effort to bring himself to push it. He heard the bell ring inside the shop, and waited.

He could see lights still lit in the living area upstairs, which meant someone was probably still awake, but there was no reply at the door. He sighed in frustration and tried again, this time leaning on the bell and allowing it to ring continuously. After maybe a minute, the light came on in the store itself, visible through the strange, yellow tinted glass of the display window. He released the bell and listened to the sound of the door being unlocked. It opened a crack, a chain preventing it opening fully, and an eye peered out.

“Oh,” said the man, then closed the door. Edgar waited impatiently as the chain was removed and the door swung open. “Well this is a surprise. Please, come in.”

Edgar shook his head, “No way. Alan told me everything, I'm just here to give these back and tell you to stay they hell away from my brother.” He thrust the books into the man's hands and glared at him threateningly. “Understand?”

The old man looked at him, apparently speechless. Edgar smirked, mission accomplished. He turned to leave.

“Wait.”

He spun back around to look at his enemy. The man took a step backwards, widening the gap in the door. “Please come in for a minute.”

“There is absolutely nothing you could say or do that would make me set foot inside that place. I'm not Alan, you don't trick me so easily. And from now on, you don't trick him either.”

“If he has told you everything, you know how much danger he's in. I'll protect him if I can, but he needs to be able to defend himself. Not only that, but with my help he could become someone truly great. Your distrust is contagious, you're holding him back.”

Edgar's fists clenched defensively, “He's already someone great, grandpa, the last thing he needs is your supernatural hoodoo polluting his mind. Leave him the hell alone or I'll make you regret it.”

With that, he spun on his heel, and walked away as quickly as he could manage without it looking like he was fleeing. He didn't dare to turn back and see whether the man was still watching him.

He didn't stop or slow down until he reached home. He went in through the back door, locked it behind him and collapsed on the couch. He took a deep breath and allowed himself a moment to think. He and Alan didn't keep secrets. They never had, and he had assumed they never would. But Alan had been keeping this from him, scared, probably, of what he would think.

And what did he think? He just didn't know. The supernatural was dangerous; it couldn't be trusted. That was something that they had agreed long ago. But Alan was a part of it. One of his parents, possibly both of them, were part of it.

He pulled off his bandanna, dropped it on the floor and massaged his scalp with the tips of his fingers. His head was beginning to throb.

Wearily, he got to his feet, filled a glass with tap water and downed it in one go, then climbed the stairs. At the door to Alan's room, he paused and listened. The light was switched off and he could hear the sound of his brother's relaxed breathing. Asleep. Edgar fought down a stab of irritation at his brother's apparent lack of concern.

With Alan asleep and their parents still unconscious in the shop, Edgar was alone in the house. He was glad of the solitude. His mind was spinning, he didn't know what to think, and tomorrow he would have to face Alan again. He had no idea what he was going to say.

* * *

Alan woke so early that the sun had barely began to rise above the line of the horizon. The soft, blueish gray glow filtered into his room through half closed curtains, and he lay under his covers for a few moments completely still, listening to the silence. This had always been his favorite time of day.

It was rarely quiet on the boardwalk. His room faced out to the front, his window just above the shop face. Days meant the constant passing of holidaymakers, people shouting and laughing, kids screaming. Nights were full of music, drunken kids and the creatures of the night that stalked them. The few short hours between the rising of the sun and the beginning of the day were peaceful. They allowed him time to think.

His thoughts this morning were troubled, filled with worry. Somewhere out there, someone may be hunting him, and he had no method of defense. His promise to Edgar that his experiences with magic were over had felt truthful at the time, but now, with the threat weighing heavily on his mind, he wondered whether he could afford to take that risk.

If he listened hard, he could hear the waves breaking on the sand and the cries of seagulls through his closed bedroom window. Then, suddenly, the silence was broken by another kind of cry – a human scream. Alan's eyes sprung open and he leaped out of bed and to the window in a single motion. He pushed the curtain aside and scanned the boardwalk and what little he could see of the beach, but there was nothing unusual to be seen. Undeterred, he pulled on yesterdays clothes, ran out of his room, and banged on Edgar's door. A sleepy, irritated voice replied.

“Something's going on outside,” he told him, and without waiting for a response, he almost flew down the stairs. He went out through the shop, leaving the door swinging open behind him and ran down, still barefoot onto the beach.

The source of the disturbance was easy to find. Not too far down the beach, a small crowd had begun to gather. They stood in a loose semicircle right at the point where the sea made contact with the land, blocking his view of what was happening. Alan sprinted along the sand toward the group, paying no attention to the sharp stones and shells that dug into the soles of his feet as he ran.

A body was laying half in, half out of the water. The constant barrage of waves caused it to lift and fall over and over again, moving inch by inch further up onto the beach. It was the body of a young man, no older than twenty, possibly even younger. He was completely naked, and laying face up, but his lack of clothing wasn't the first thing you noticed about him. Alan's eye was drawn immediately to the man's chest where someone had carved a large pentagram. At each of the five points of the star were five different symbols that Alan didn't recognize.

One of the men in the crowd, a surfer by the look of his sun-bleached hair, tanned skin and muscular physique, bent down to drag the body out of the water. He hooked his arms under the shoulders and pulled the corpse up the beach, leaving trail in the sand behind it. A woman standing toward the back of the rapidly growing crowd began to cry. Most likely shock at seeing her first body rather than that he was someone she knew, at least, Alan hoped that was the case.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder, and Alan turned to find himself looking directly into his brother's worried eyes. Edgar had thought to put his shoes before he went out, but had left his bandanna, and apparently his comb behind in his room. He stared at the body thoughtfully, then looked up to the boardwalk. As he did, Alan followed his gaze and realized that they were far enough down the beach to be in view of the magic store. As his eyes passed over the shop, the door opened and Anthony walked out.

The old man walked slowly down the stone stairs that led from the boardwalk to the beach, and made his way across the sand to join the crowd of onlookers. As he arrived, Edgar shifted his position, placing himself between his brother and the man, and glared at him suspiciously..

“Black magic,” Anthony muttered, staring at the body. “It's him.”

“Dumping them outside your front door?” Edgar said, “Sloppy.”

The old man didn't reply. Instead, he looked at Alan thoughtfully. His expression changed, as though he was about to say something but thought better of it. Then he he turned away and left the beach behind.

“It's not him,” Alan said.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Edgar took a deep breath, gave the body one final glance and then turned to walk home. “It's someone like him, though. This whole town is full of freaks.” He paused, looked at his brother, and grimaced. “No offense,” he added.

The remark stopped Alan in his tracks. He fought back the surge of irritation directed at his brother and jogged to catch him back up. “It is,” he agreed, “Anthony says that's why we're here.”

Edgar glanced at him sideways, waiting for an explanation.

“There's some kind of energy here. That's what attracts the vampires and the werewolves, and the evil, murdering warlocks. He says it probably attracted our family here originally.”

Edgar continued walking, facing directly forwards as he spoke into the air as though speaking to himself rather than the brother at his side. “I don't want you talking like that, Alan. You're not like them. You're human. You made a dumb mistake and played around with magic, but you're still one of us.”

“They're human too, they just have a talent for magic.”

“I know, I know.” Edgar shook his head. “Look, you've had a while longer to process all this crap. I'm still stuck on the idea you're...” his words tailed off into nothing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alan's deliberately blank expression. “You need to stop standing up for them, or I'm going to start worrying about what they've done to your head.”

Alan took a deep breath, ready to argue, then changed his mind. It wasn't worth it.

At the lack of a response, Edgar turned to look at him again, and smiled uncertainly. Alan shrugged and nodded, and Edgar breathed what looked like a sigh of relief. “I can't believe you ran outside barefoot,” he said, “Have you seen the crap that gets dumped on the boardwalk? And there's a broken beer bottle right outside the shop door.”

Alan looked down at his feet, and shrugged. He hadn't been thinking about shoes, his intention had simply been to find the source of the scream as quickly as possible.

“Or do your new magical powers mean you can fly over it? Because that would be useful for fighting vampires, it'd even things out a bit.”

Alan frowned. Edgar's words had the tone of a joke, but with a spiteful undercurrent that he didn't like.

“What _can_ you do with magic, anyway?” Edgar asked suddenly as they reached the stairs that led from the beach up to the boardwalk. “What's it for? Apart from murder and putting curses on people? Does is have any uses that aren't evil?”

“Of course it does,” Alan told him. He noted that the shop door was locked, Edgar must have done it on the way out. He waited for him to fish in his pocket for the key. “Healing,” he said. “There was a whole section on that in the book. And there are lots of good spells that help people.”

Edgar located the door key at the bottom of his pocket and turned it in the lock. He nodded. “So, if there were witches back somewhere in the family tree, they weren't necessarily evil?”

Alan shook his head. “Most Practitioners are good people.”

The door closed behind them and Edgar turned the key again. He leaned against the door and seemed to sag slightly as though he was carrying something too heavy. “I still don't like it,” he said.

“Yeah,” Alan slapped his brother on the shoulder supportively. He pretended not to notice when Edgar subconsciously flinched away from the contact. “I know. I don't either.”

* * *

Alan inspected what was left of the bread and decided it was unsalvageable. He threw it in the garbage, retrieved two bowls from the cupboard and filled them with cornflakes. He checked the refrigerator, found that there was no milk, and so ate them dry, using his fingers.

Edgar pushed his own bowl away untouched. “We need a new plan,” he said.

Alan crunched his dry cereal and watched him.

“Watching the magic store isn't getting us anywhere. This guy is out there killing. We've got bodies washing up outside our house, and all we've got is a list of people who've wandered into the store. Most of them, we don't know who they are. Look at this,” he pulled a battered notepad from his jacket pocket and dropped it on the table. “'Girl with red hair,'” he read, “she went in last night, just before you turned up. 'Green dress woman,' does she sound suspicious to you? Oh, my personal favorite, one of Sam's, 'that guy from yesterday'. I checked the day before, there are twenty guys, we know who three of them are. And the list of suspects just keeps getting longer with every person that walks in that place. Most of them are probably just naïve idiots,” he gave Alan a sideways look, “and if you're sure it's not the shop guy, the killer probably won't go in anyway or the guy would recognize him in each town. We need a new plan.”

“Do you have one?” Alan asked.

“To be honest, I was hoping you did.”

Alan thought hard, but it did no good. He had been trying to come up with solutions since the beginning, and the fact that Edgar was now looking for suggestions didn't make them come any easier. He shook his head.

“I meant what I said last night. If your weirdo powers make you a target for this guy, we need to keep you safe. Stick with me or Sam at all times. When you can't, like at school, stay in a crowded place. We go there and back together. Under no circumstances go out alone at night. Or in the day, for that matter. Watch your back.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Edgar looked at him suspiciously.

Alan nodded. He could sense Edgar's ulterior motive. He knew that under the guise of keeping him safe, his brother was giving himself a license to keep tabs on him at all times. It would ensure no more sneaking off to the magic store when Edgar wasn't looking. But at the same time, the intention to keep him safe was genuine. He knew that no mater what happened between them, they would each be able to rely on the other to protect them, to the death, if the need arose.

* * *

The Practitioner watched through closed eyes and smiled. This wasn't going to be easy, but the challenge was what would make it worthwhile. Simply picking people off the street satisfied the hunger for their power, but did not exercise the Practitioner's skills. This would take time, but it would be all the more satisfying once it was done.


	8. Chapter 8

When Anthony returned to the shop and made his way up the stairs, Sophie was up. She wore her black robe over her pastel green pajamas, and her hair was unbrushed. She was in the kitchen making coffee. The aroma filled the whole building and Anthony inhaled appreciatively.

“Where've you been?” she asked as soon as he walked in.

He hesitated before he replied, but as much as he wished he could protect her, she needed to know what was going on. “On the beach, another body washed up.”

Sophie turned away and placed the coffee mugs on the table behind her. He heard her take a deep breath. “Was it him?”

“Unless there's another one in town, yes.”

She nodded, added milk and sugar to her drink and gave Anthony his black. “Did they see it?”

She meant Alan and Edgar. Anthony knew that she felt guilty about the way she had acted with Alan the day before, and the consequences that it had had. He hated to rub salt in the wound by bringing it up, but they needed Alan's trust. He nodded.

“Your stunt yesterday has pushed Alan back towards his brother's way of thinking. You have to make amends, or he's in terrible danger.”

Sophie frowned, “If the body turned up here, it was a message for us, not him.”

Anthony shook his head. “I think I may have placed him in danger by contacting him, put him on out enemy's radar, so to speak.”

“We have no reason to think that apart from paranoia,”

“Yes, we do.” Anthony put down his mug and looked at her seriously. “When I saw him on the beach, there was an aura around him, I think someone is using a spell on him.”

Sophie looked down, suddenly very interested in her cup of coffee.

“Sophie, when you spoke to him yesterday, you were just playing a joke on him, weren't you. You haven't done anything?”

“Of course not! I feel like an idiot for doing it, too, so thanks for bringing it up. Could you tell what the spell was?”

He thought carefully, Edgar had been standing between them, his presence had blocked the aura so that he had barely noticed it at first, but it had felt familiar. He shook his head, “I don't think so. And I'm not sure whether I should tell him about it or not, it might cause more harm than good. Do your best to apologize and win back his trust today. Hopefully he'll realize he needs our help.”

Sophie rolled her eyes, “I'll do my best, but I think his stupid brother has brainwashed him.”

“No, Sophie. Everything was fine until you decided to intervene. You did this with your silly jokes and trying to recruit the brother. We don't need more people to fight, we need them to survive. I know our enemy has cost you a lot, but that is not the way.”

“Fine. I know. I'm sorry.” She go up from the table and left, talking her coffee with her.

Anthony watched her go, wishing there was something he could do. Wherever they moved, he followed them, he never touched them, never made any kind of contact, but wherever they went, a trail of death followed them. It was as though his purpose in life was to make them suffer. Whenever Anthony thought he was close to finding and stopping him, he disappeared only to resurface in the next city. This time they had moved twice with no deaths, he had allowed himself the luxury of thinking that perhaps it was over, but a move to an area so rich in talent had apparently proved too much of a temptation for their enemy.

He drained his mug and left in in the sink. He would find him this time, he was determined. He would find him and stop him, and then Sophie could have the life he always wanted for her.

* * *

Everywhere Edgar went at school, the air seemed to buzz with rumors of the body on the beach. With every telling, the tale grew more gruesome as one by one the kids added things, embellished, misunderstood Chinese whisper style, or just plain lied.

Edgar leaned against the wall outside the math class listening to Sam. He and Alan had parted ways inside the school building with plans to meet at lunch. Edgar didn't like it. School should be safe, but he just couldn't be sure.

“Oh, you'll like this one,” Sam said suddenly.

Edgar looked at him in surprise, as though he had forgotten there was someone standing next to him. “What?”

“Daniel Toulen said the body was turned inside out. Like completely, inside out, internal organs on the outside,”

“I know what inside out means,” Edgar snapped. “Danny Toulen's an idiot, just like most of the other kids in this place.

“Someone else said his whole body was covered in magical symbols. Like, head to foot.” Sam continued. “And I heard he was still almost alive when they pulled him out of the water. Is any of that true?”

Edgar shook his head but didn't comment. Their lives had taken a turn for the weird recently, and for them, that was really saying something. The things he had learned the night before had kept him awake into the small hours, and he had barely managed to fall asleep when Alan had banged on his door. And then the body on the beach...

It wasn't the first body he had seen. Hell, he had killed before now, but he had killed vampires. The guy laying on the sand with the horrible things carved into his flesh had been human. Magically talented, perhaps, but still human.

Just like Alan.

Alan, who was a target of the same madman.

In his mind's eye, he could his brother's body washed up on the beach, the symbols etched into his flesh and a look of agony and terror frozen onto his face as around him, interested people gathered in a group to gawp. The kids at school would love it even more. Not only a dead body to talk about, but one that had gone to their school. One they knew, if only by sight.

“Edgar, are you okay?” Sam's concerned voice cut through his horrible imagining and he shook his head to clear the images.

“How much did you know about what was going on?” he asked.

Sam's eyes widened as though in panic. “I...”

“Hey, Frog,” a voice interrupted before Sam had the chance to make his excuses. “I heard you saw the body. Is it true it looked like some kind of devil worship? I bet you loved that, didn't you?”

The voice belonged to John DeLang, not so much the school bully as the bully wannabe. He usually got his kicks standing behind his larger friends, laughing as they beat up some defenseless freshman. He didn't like Edgar and Alan. It wasn't an unusual position to take in a place where image was everything and vampire hunter chic was very much not in. The feeling was mutual. Generally though, he kept away. He didn't like his victims to fight back.

Edgar turned his attention to the older boy and glared menacingly at him. The effect would have been better if John didn't have a good three inches height advantage, but confidence won out and the bully backed off a step. “Yeah, moron, best thing ever.” Edgar told him, in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

DeLang looked confused, glanced from Edgar to Sam and back to Edgar, then scowled, deepening the ever present furrow between his eyebrows. “Whatever, I'll leave you with your boyfriend. I don't want to get any gay on me.” With that, he turned and stomped away down the corridor.

Sam watched him go with an amused smirk. “Wow. Say what you like about California, but I really think we had a better quality of bully in Phoenix.”

“Forget him,” Edgar told him. “We've got more important things to worry about. Like the evil, murdering warlock on the rampage. You know, the one that probably wants to kill my brother. And while we're on the subject, you didn't think it would have been a good idea to give me a heads up? You knew about the warlocks murdering to steal magic, and you knew Alan was... You knew what was going on.”

“Yeah,” the amused smile died on his lips. “Sorry, Edgar. Really. Yeah, I knew about the magic, and I knew about the body, but we didn't know they were connected.”

Edgar shook his head. “Please. You tried to cover for Alan, babbling on about coincidences when I said the first body was connected to the magic store,”

Sam slumped slightly against the wall and nodded. “I don't know what to tell you. I'm Alan's friend too, he asked me not to say anything. I didn't even know about the body 'til we got to school, what was I supposed to do, just blurt everything out with Alan standing right there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I couldn't. I really didn't know it wasn't a coincidence. And Alan had only done one spell, just for fun, and then decided not to do it again.”

“Fun,” Edgar muttered, shaking his head. “If someone told me I was a warlock, I'd punch him in the face, not run home and try out some spells.”

Sam shrugged. “So it turns out you and Alan don't share a brain. It actually comes as a surprise to me too, but you know most brothers do disagree now and then. It means you're normal.”

Edgar looked at him Sam and noticed how exhausted his friend looked, dark circles around his eyes told of a sleepless night, and the general weight of the new knowledge he found himself burdened with was already taking its toll.

“There is nothing 'normal' about the ability to cast spells. Don't you see what this means, Alan's...” he stopped, took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the wall behind him. “Alan's in danger,” he said. “We need to do something.”

“We could talk to Kirsty's friends,” Sam suggested.

“Kirsty being who, exactly?”

“The dead guy's sister. She's a student here. She's not in today, obviously, but I bet her friends know if anything weird was going on with the brother before he washed up on the beach.”

Edgar looked at him in disbelief. “How do you know that when I don't? You've been here, what? Five minutes?”

“Almost a year, actually.” Sam shrugged. “I actually talk to people sometimes. And when I say talk, I'm referring to actual conversations, not just accusing them of being werewolves and witches. I don't know if you realize this, but you and Alan have a bit of a weird reputation.”

“Hey.” Edgar jabbed a finger into Sam's chest. “We're protecting these kids. If they want to hide from the truth under a rock and not notice we're keeping them safe, that's up to them. I don't give a shit what they think.”

Sam held his hands up in mock surrender, “Alright, alright, don't shoot the messenger.”

Edgar dropped his hand to his side. “Fine, c'mon Mr. social butterfly, lets put your people skills to work.”

* * *

Alan glanced from left to right in the hall before he opened his locker and quickly swapped his books. The corridor was full of kids and teachers. Their presence made him feel safer, if anyone was going to attack him, they wouldn't do it here, but he couldn't shake the creepy feeling that he was being watched.

He slammed the locker closed and looked around again. No one seemed to be paying him any attention at all. He had heard his name mentioned once or twice today when someone spoke about the body, but other than that it was just like any other day, he was practically invisible to the other kids.

His bag loaded up, he slung it over his shoulder and made his way down the hall, looking out for Edgar and Sam as he went. Neither of them were around. The crowds began to thin slightly and the noise level dropped as students disappeared through various doors into classrooms, or went outside to enjoy the sunshine in a free period. Alan was just about to push open the door to his next class when he felt someone tap his shoulder. He spun around expecting to see Edgar or Sam, and found himself looking at Sophie.

“Aagh,” he said, and backed off into the wall.

She smiled, “I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” she told him.

Alan looked at her. His eye was drawn to the pentacle pendant hanging around her neck and his mind immediately went back to the body, and the carving on its chest. But that symbol was representative of all kinds of magic, there was nothing evil about it. He knew that, yet seeing it now still made him feel uncomfortable.

Sophie smiled wider and took a step closer. “Aren't you going to say anything?”

“Aren't you?”

She frowned.

“You said you wanted to apologize, so go ahead and do it.”

He folded his arms and waited. Sophie pursed her lips in irritation. “Fine. I'm sorry.”

Alan nodded and attempted to side step past her in order to gain entry to his classroom. As he tried, the girl moved with him, blocking his way.

“So, do you forgive me?”

Alan shook his head. “No.”

Sophie stared at him as though trying to decide how to respond. Alan used her confusion to step around and slipped inside the classroom. He closed the door behind him and chose a seat at the back of the room, as far from the door as he could manage. If she lingered outside the room, he didn't know about it.

* * *

Kirsty's group weren't hard to find. Even without Sam pointing them out, Edgar was sure he would have had no trouble locating the group of depressed looking teenage girls sitting around looking mournful. Even in the murder capital of the world, death came as a shock to people that knew the victim.

They had commandeered a bench in a shaded part of the grounds and were all crowded around it, squashed together to ensure they all fit. There were twelve of them, all aged between fifteen and sixteen. Edgar recognized some of them, but the majority he would have passed on the street without noticing. Except for today, that is. Even in Santa Carla, a teenage girl with mascara and tears running down her face stood out from the crowd.

Sam sauntered over and put a hand on the shoulder of one of the girls at the edge of the bench. She looked up at him and smiled, wiping a hand across her cheek to brush the tears away. “Hey Danni,” Sam said. “How're you doing?”

“I just can't believe he's gone,” she told him in a hoarse voice. The girl next to her put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed tightly. “He was so great,” she added.

“So great,” echoed another of the girls. “And so gorgeous.”

Edgar caught Sam's eye and rolled his eyes dramatically. Sam frowned in response. “Yeah, yeah he was. Hey, this'll sound like a weird question, but do you guys know if Mark was mixed up in anything unusual before he died?”

One of the group that Edgar recognized as Lisa, from his history class shook her head. “Unusual? What do you mean?”

Before Sam could answer, Edgar stepped forward and interrupted. “You know, acting out of character, being secretive. Maybe you saw him with some strange things, books, symbols, weird herbs? Did he ever mention magic? Did he talk about anyone unusual that he'd met?”

“He...” Danni, the girl whose shoulder Sam was still touching frowned. “He went to the new shop on the boardwalk. You know, the Cauldron? He used to go to the other store in town, but I think liked the girl that works in there.” She looked at Sam as she spoke, ignoring Edgar's presence completely. Sam glanced at Edgar as she said this and noticed his suspicious frown.

The girl opposite her, with long, blonde hair tied back in a pony tail, stared at her in disbelief. “Are you serious? That weird goth girl? The new kid? Isn't she like four years younger than him? He told me I was too young and I'm older than her!”

Another of the girls turned to Sam. “Are you going to the funeral?” she asked. “I was thinking I'd wear my new black dress that I got in the sale. It's a bit short, but I think I could get away with it. And my black boots.”

“That sounds great,” said another girl. “What do you think, eye makeup or not? I want to say yes, but if we cry and it runs, we'll look terrible.” She looked at Sam for an opinion, he glanced at Edgar for an exit. Edgar just shot him an amused look, folded his arms and watched.

“Ah, I've got to go. I'll see you guys later.” Sam backed off and fled with Edgar following after him.

“Wow,” said the vampire hunter when they were out of earshot. “You're their girlfriend.”

Sam crossed his arms, “I'm their _friend_.” he corrected.

“Do you help them paint their nails too? There's a guy just died and their most pressing concern is what to wear for the funeral. Did I mention this town is seriously messed up?”

“I guess people around here are more used to death.” Sam said. “Murder capital of the world and all that.”

Edgar folded his arms thoughtfully. “So, the dead guy was hanging out at the magic shop, and presumably got himself on the radar of our two least favorite warlocks.”

They stopped at the entrance to the school building and Sam shrugged. “It makes sense he'd go there. He was a Wiccan, after all.”

Edgar's eyes narrowed. “He was a what?”

“A Wiccan. You know, it's a religion. They do spells, it makes sense that some of them have real magic.”

“I know what Wiccans are,” Edgar said. “I didn't know we had any at our school.”

Sam smiled sympathetically. “Well, I don't suppose they'd talk to you about it, would they? Relax, they've been here a long time, and they're all good people. None of them will have decided to go on a killing spree. The murderer might have magic, but there's no way he's a Wiccan.”

“I didn't say he was,” Edgar said. “But I bet he picks his victims from among people who visit that shop.”

“We're not back to watching the door, are we?” Sam groaned.

Edgar shook his head. “That was because I suspected the shop guy, now I think Alan's right. I don't like him, but I don't think he's a murderer. The real murderer is probably clever enough not to go inside or the guy would recognize him in every town. Our priority right now is to protect Alan.”


	9. Chapter 9

Wednesday was new comics day. It meant the afternoon after school and the early part of the evening was taken up by the weekly task of moving the unsold older comics out of the way to make room for the new issues. For a comic book fan, it was far from a chore; it was a chance to flick through the latest adventures of Batman, and find out the conclusion of the cliffhanger on Vampires everywhere.

On this particular Wednesday, however, Alan found himself unable to drum up the requisite amount of enthusiasm for the task. His mind was full of images of the body on the beach. He could distract himself for short periods, but the horrific images would quickly invade his thoughts again as soon as he allowed his mind to wander. And along with the memory, came the terrifying thought that he might be next.

Apart from when they were at school, when it was impossible, Edgar had kept his promise not to leave him unguarded. His brother's expression was unreadable, as he took his self appointed task literally, making sure his eyes were almost constantly fixed on Alan. It had the odd effect of making Alan feel both reassured and uncomfortable at the same time, because he truly did believe that as long as they stuck together, nothing could harm them, but he was aware of Edgar's other objective. Keeping him safe from anyone who may wish to harm him, yes; but also keeping him safe from himself.

One title at a time, he moved the older issues into a pile on the floor and arranged the shelf with the new issues, placing them in their proper place. Having any kind of order in which the comics were placed on the shelf was pointless really. They always started out neat and tidy, but by the end of the week customers had moved them around seemingly at random.

As he worked, he was very aware of Edgar's eyes on him. His brother sat on the wooden chair behind the counter, the one with the woven seat full of holes from years of use and abuse. His feet were up on the desk, displaying the filthy soles of his shoes to Alan and the rest of the store. His chair was tilted back onto two legs somewhat precariously.

Alan stood up from where he had been crouched on the floor, stretched, and pressed the switch on the old black and white TV that sat on the counter. He leaned over the desk and reached to the shelf underneath with his hand, unable to see what he was doing, and selected a cassette at random from where they were stored. He pushed it into the slot in the VCR and immediately a film started somewhere in the middle. A werewolf chased a screaming woman though the woods under the light of an impossibly large full moon.

Edgar tilted his chair slightly closer to the desk, reached his hand across and turned the volume down to zero. Alan looked at him but didn't comment. He continued to arrange the new Superman titles on the display shelf, one copy at the front for the customers to pick up, flick through and put back, another few bagged and boarded behind it for the more serious collectors who wanted to know they were getting an undamaged copy.

When he was done, he lifted another box onto the desk, dropping it next to Edgar's feet. “Why don't you sort the new Marvel books?” he said.

He slid the box across the desk until it knocked against Edgar's feet. The unexpected movement of his feet several inches to the left disturbed his balance and Edgar instinctively gripped the desk with one hand and the closest wall with the other, in order to keep himself upright. He glared at his brother, then righted his chair, placing all four legs on the ground.

“Animal Farm,” Alan said.

“What?” Edgar creased his expression into a frown as he tried to work out the significance of two seemingly random words.

“Don't you remember when we were kids and we'd sit like that at the table. Mom always told us, 'Four legs good, two legs bad.' It's a quote from Animal Farm.”

Edgar looked at him uncomprehendingly. “Oh. So?”

Alan shrugged, “I don't know. It just came into my head. Will you just do something other than stare at me. Please?”

Edgar sighed and began to unpack the box. Satisfied, Alan continued sorting the shelf, watching the muted movie out of the corner of his eye.

Edgar used his peripheral vision to continue to observe Alan. Alan wondered whether he even realized he was doing it. Edgar took his bodyguard duties very seriously. Then, after unpacking the box and arranging the contents on the desk, Edgar picked up a comic book at random, sat back down, re-tilted his chair and placed his feet back on the desk. 

Alan ignored him and pressed the volume switch on the TV again. The screams of the girl being chased filed the room. Edgar left it as it was this time.

“Werewolves are still the bad guys, right?” Edgar said suddenly.

Alan glanced at him in confusion.

“Werewolves,” Edgar said again. He indicated the TV with a wave of his hand. “They're still the enemy, if one moves in next door, we don't have to make friends with it? I'm just checking, because it seems like the rules have changed now you're... you know.”

Alan was looking away from his brother. He froze completely still and allowed himself to absorb the comment, analyze it and attempt to come up with another way to take it. There wasn't one. Edgar was finally doing what Alan thought he might but hoped he wouldn't; releasing his discomfort into the atmosphere in the form of badly thought out, hurtful comments.

Alan allowed himself a count of ten to take a deep breath and process the idea that despite what he might have said before, Edgar now considered him to be something other than what he himself was. The magic, something over which Alan had no control, had driven a wedge between them. Alan wondered whether things could ever be the same again or whether Edgar would always view him with some kind of suspicion.

He turned slowly, trying to think of a response. His eyes fixed on the cover of the comic book in Edgar's hands. “Edgar, the comic you're reading right now...”

Edgar turned the comic over to check which title he had picked at random, and nodded. “Uncanny X-Men.”

“Yeah. Didn't think you were much of a Marvel fan, but anyway. In it there are humans, and mutants. And the humans are afraid of the mutants because of what they can do, right? There are good mutants and bad ones, but because they don't understand, the humans hate them all.”

Edgar put the book down and looked at his brother. “Are you seriously explaining the plot of the X-Men to me? We both work in a comic book store.”

“I'm drawing a comparison. Think of the mutants as the people with magical talent. They're not all evil, but you're scared of them all – of us all.”

“I'm not scared of you, Alan,” Edgar told him levelly.

Alan turned down the TV volume a few notches, leaving it audible but no longer so oppressive. He put down the comics he had been arranging, brushed the dust from the floor off of his clothes and looked his brother in the eye. “Okay. Good.” He paused to consider, but now was the best opportunity he had had to bring this up, at least now they were actually talking about it in some form.

He looked Edgar straight in the eye and tried to sound more confident than he felt. “I want to learn the defensive spells.”

“What? No! We've been over this, it's too dangerous.”

“It's more dangerous to be defenseless. Any other circumstances, I'd never consider it, but there is someone out there who wants me dead, Edgar. I'm scared. You remember when the vampires were coming for us? It's like that, but we knew how to fight them off, we knew about stakes and holy water and garlic.”

“It's too dangerous,” Edgar repeated.

“It's like I have a weapon I can use against him, but I don't know how to fire it,” Alan said. “I have magical talent. I don't want it, but I've got it and I might as well use it.”

For a moment, Edgar found himself lost for words, he stared at Alan in disbelief, and then began to slowly shake his head from side to side. “Great,” he said eventually. “So not only is my brother a magical freak, but now he wants to study witchcraft.”

His eyes met Alan's and for a moment hurt shone in them, quickly replaced by anger. Edgar turned around and walked away.

“Edgar, wait.”

Without turning around or slowing down, Edgar walked into the back of the shop. Alan chased after him.

“Edgar, please. Will you just listen to me? Someone wants me dead, I can't just... Edgar!” he grabbed his brother's shoulder as he passed through the door.

The force of Edgar's forward momentum spun him around and he glared at Alan. “Don't touch me,” he said. “I don't even want to look at you right now. You know what? You were right earlier. I am scared of you. I don't know what you are any more.”

Against his will, Alan felt his fingers spring open as though in a spasm, or as though Edgar's shoulder had suddenly become red hot and reflex forced him to let go. Edgar turned away again. The words were like a slap in the face. Alan found himself completely mobilized by shock.

“I'm exactly the same as you,” he said. The words left his mouth before he had the opportunity to consider them. He spoke in a low, level voice that made the hairs on the back of Edgar's neck stand on end. “I wasn't going to tell you because I knew how much you'd hate it, but if it's the only way to make you see that this doesn't make any difference to who I am...” he paused.

Edgar was standing completely still, every muscle rigid, still facing away from Alan.

Alan waited, giving his brother time to change his mind, to turn around, to say something. Anything at all. To take back what he had said. He didn't. It was almost as though he knew what was coming, and he was simply waiting to hear it.

“You've got magical talent too, Edgar. It runs in the family, and yours is locked away just like mom and dad's, but it's there. If I'm a freak, that makes you exactly the same.”

Edgar made no response. Instead, still without turning around to look at his brother, he walked away into the back of the shop.

Alan heard the back door slam, and suddenly he felt very alone. He rubbed angrily at his eyes, brushing away the embarrassing tears that he was glad Edgar hadn't seen, and tried to continue with the task of restocking the shelves.

* * *

As he pulled the door closed behind him with a loud crack, Edgar immediately regretted not grabbing his jacket from the coat hook in the kitchen. He shivered in the night air, wrapped his bare arms around his chest and walked quickly away.

He cut through the first narrow street leading back to the boardwalk, and walked past the comic shop as quickly as he could, hoping not to be noticed as he glanced inside. Alan was visible through the window, calmly continuing to stock the shelves.

Edgar's head was spinning. All around him was the noise and bustle of the Santa Carla night. Families with young kids hurried home as though they somehow sensed the wrongness that settled over the place after dark, while teenagers who either didn't notice or didn't care showed how cool they were with their skateboard tricks or their ability to get served in the liquor store.

He wanted nothing more than to run; just to pick a direction and run as far and as fast as he could until he was to exhausted to be able to think. But he couldn't do that. While Alan was a target, he couldn't leave him alone. He paced the boardwalk, up and down, staying far enough away from the shop to not be noticed, but close enough that he would see if anything happened.

Alan's words echoed in his mind, but louder than that were his own. He hadn't meant to say those horrible things to his brother, he regretted them, and he regretted that they were true. He shivered again and didn't know whether it was the night air or the memory of the past few minutes that caused the reaction.

He barely noticed the crowds surrounding him. The boardwalk rides spun dizzyingly quickly, bright lights flashed, loud music filled the air with so much bass he could feel it inside his chest. Edgar was used to it, he had grown up surrounded by the freakshow that was Santa Carla, with its weird fashion trends, its punks and its surfers, its vampires and its werewolves, and he had never felt like it touched him. He and his brother stood apart from the world they inhabited, two lone soldiers, defending the unsuspecting masses from the things that went bump in the night.

Or that had been the plan. In fact, until the previous summer, they hadn't even known with a hundred percent certainty that the monsters were real, but now they did, the plan was to destroy them. The plan did not involve learning that he was one of them. For the first time in his life, Edgar Frog looked around his freakshow of a town and thought that maybe this was where he was supposed to be.

He felt sick.

He tried to deny it; to tell himself that Alan had been lying to hurt him, but he could read Alan like a book, he always had been able to. It went both ways. They had whole conversations without saying a word. He wondered now whether that was some kind of magic.

But just because Alan believed it, that didn't mean it was true. It could be something the old man had said, a lie that Alan had believed. But, just like him, Alan wasn't easily fooled. It was a Frog trait, Edgar liked to think of it as a built in bullshit detector. It was that that allowed them to see the truth about Santa Carla's more... unusual residents. Now he wondered whether that too could be attributed to another force.

He was connected to it. To the beat of Santa Carla's supernatural heart. There was no escaping from that fact.

They were supposed to hunt the monsters, not be them. And if a hunt went wrong, they had an unspoken agreement that they would stake the other brother if necessary. Death was a better alternative to becoming like the enemy. But this was different. If Alan was right – and Edgar's natural paranoia forced him to think that perhaps he was – then this was what they had been their whole lives. Yet they weren't evil, they fought the evil. Which meant that maybe he had been wrong. Not about the vampires, they were evil to the core, but about other things.

If it was true, if Alan was right, this could seriously mess up his convictions about the supernatural.

His eye was drawn to a figure on a pushbike approaching the comic store. Sam, in his usual hideous clothing that seemed to fit in on the boardwalk like it would no where else on Earth. Immediately, he sunk back into the crowd to avoid detection and watched as their friend entered the shop. As soon as the door closed and Alan was no longer alone, Edgar turned around and walked down the steps to the beach

He set out walking along the sand, just wanting to be somewhere else. Anywhere, as long as it was away.

* * *

Sam swung his leg over the saddle of his bicycle and rode the last few yards standing on the peddle like a kids scooter. He broke to a stop just outside the door to Frog's Comics and pushed open the door with his front wheel.

He pushed the bike inside the shop and leaned it against wall. The inside of the shop smelled of dust and paper, with the vague hint of the marijuana smoke that constantly hung in the air inside the Frog home. Mr and Mrs Frog rarely smoked in the shop, but it drifted through the open door to the house, where he had often seen them sitting on the couch, passing a joint to one another or sometimes taking acid. They were so stuck in the 60s.

Actually, Sam thought it was pretty cool.

Today, there was no sign of Edgar and Alan's parents. They weren't in the shop and there was no cloud emanating from the back room. Sam scanned the shop quickly. Two kids a little younger than him were flicking through the boxes at the left of the shop with well practiced speed. Alan was sitting alone at the desk near the back, resting his chin on his hand, staring into nothing. Edgar was nowhere to be seen.

Sam brushed away the creases that cycling left in his jacket, glanced quickly into the window of the shop, made into a mirror by the darkness outside, ran a hand once over his hair, and then made his way across the shop to Alan.

Alan didn't look up as he approached. Sam stood and waited for a second, and then impatiently rapped his knuckles on the desk. “Earth to Alan. Calling Alan Frog. Are you alive in there, buddy?”

Alan jumped and looked up. Sam noticed his eyes looked red. Red as in bloodshot, not vampire red. Alan nodded at him. “Sam.”

“Where's Edgar? I thought he was keeping you under constant surveillance, or whatever it was he said.”

Alan shrugged, “Something came up, he had to leave.”

“Hmm,” Sam peered at his friend, then turned around and hopped up to land sitting on the desk facing out into the store. He turned around to look at Alan. “What came up?”

“Nothing important.” Alan looked away again, like he didn't want to meet Sam's gaze.

Sam frowned. “Okay, what's going on here? Because my spider sense is tingling.”

Alan watched as the two kids, obviously not finding what they were looking for, walked out, leaving the door swinging behind them. He took a deep breath. “Edgar and I had a fight,” he said.

“Oh, okay.” Sam slid down from the desk, pulled up an old wooden chair, spun it around and sat down. “That actually explains a lot. Was it about the... you know?”

“I told him I wanted to learn some defensive spells. Anthony offered to teach me, and I thought if someone attacks me, I should know how to fight them off.”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. “And I'm guessing he didn't think it was such a good idea.”

“You could say that.”

“So, what did he say?”

Alan shook his head. “It doesn't matter. The point is, he stormed out. I've never seen him like that.”

“So what did _you_ say?”

Alan glanced quickly around the shop, making sure that the were alone. “You remember I told you magic runs in families?”

He paused for a response and Sam nodded.

“Well, when I told you I'm the only one who has it, that wasn't completely true.”

Sam's eyes widened. “You mean that Edgar...?”

“Yes. And I told him. It just slipped out, I didn't mean to. Or maybe I did, I don't know. It's just, the things he said... I just thought if I cold make him understand that it doesn't make any difference...” he shook his head. “I've ruined everything. I wish we'd never gone into the magic shop. Now there's a madman out to kill me, Edgar thinks I'm some kind of freak, and I don't know if he's ever going to talk to me again.”

“It'll all work out,” Sam told him.

Alan looked at him incredulously. 

“It will. Edgar'll come around. I was only saying to him today, brothers fight, it's normal. Look at me and Michael, he turned into a vampire and back. It didn't change a thing in the end.”

Alan shook his head. “That's different. This is Edgar. He doesn't do shades of gray when it comes to the supernatural. As far as he's concerned, I accused him of being one of the monsters.”

“That's ridiculous,” Sam said.

“That's Edgar. That's me, too. Until recently I'd have reacted exactly the same.”

Sam rested his elbow on the desk, rested his chin on his fist and looked across the desk at Alan, thoughtfully. He inflated his cheeks and allowed the air to leak out through his lips like a punctured tire. He bit his lip. “He probably just needs time to process. Why don't you stay at my house tonight, give Edgar some time to cool off. Then maybe tomorrow he'll be in a better mood.”

Alan thought about it for a minute. “Your mom won't mind?” he asked

“Are you kidding? She loves you guys. Anyway, it's my grandpa's house, really.”

“Okay, thanks. I'll get some stuff and close up early. I'd rather not be here when he gets back.”

* * *

A mile or so out of town on his trek down the beach, Edgar stopped when the sand ran into the cliffs and the incoming tide made it impossible to walk any further. He dropped down onto the sand and looked around. The moon was barely a sliver in the sky, there was no light apart from the impossibly bright points in the sky that were stars viewed away from the lights of the city.

He felt suddenly very tired, but not physically. It was as though the accumulated revelations of the past few days, each one worse than the last, were heavy weights pressing on his mind. His head ached, the chill in the air still gave him goose bumps over all of his skin. He rubbed his hands quickly up and down his arms, creating heat by friction.

He wished he had never heard of magic. He wished that when the magic store opened, he and Alan had just stayed the hell away from it. He wished Alan had told the owner where to shove his stupid books, and most of all, he wished he tonight had never happened.

He glanced around again and felt a shiver not brought on by the cold. In the almost impossibly dark night, something could be watching him. Maybe even the murderer. He wasn't a target if his power was locked away, but...

His power.

He had power. Not that he could use it, or that he ever wanted to, but just the idea of it shook his world view so badly that he didn't know whether he could be sure of anything ever again.

He wondered whether Alan felt the same way.

Of course he did. How could he not?

Edgar pressed his knuckles hard into his forehead, and rocked them back and forth painfully. “It doesn't matter,” he said to the nighttime. Alan had been right, it didn't make any difference to who they were. He just wondered whether his brother would ever forgive him.

And, for that matter, whether he would ever forgive himself.


	10. Chapter 10

Sam's mom folded a large feather duvet in half and laid it on the floor of Sam's bedroom. She apologized that they didn't have a bed for him, but Alan didn't mind at all. It was surprisingly comfortable. Possibly better even than his own bed at home, the mattress so old that it had become a landscape filled with hills and valleys that made it impossible for him to lie comfortably. The duvet was warm, and so soft that his whole body seemed to sink into it. He put both his hands underneath the pillow, supporting his head, covered himself completely with the second duvet with the Batman print cover and spent the night laying on the floor staring up at the ceiling.

This was, pathetic as he knew it was, the first night Alan had slept away from home. His family didn't take vacations. The comic book store was strictly a family business, they had no paid employees and they couldn't afford to close down for a week. Besides, they already lived right on the beach smack in the middle of a popular tourist destination, it made vacations seem pointless, really. Alan doubted that most of the time his parents even noticed where they were anymore, so a trip would be wasted on them. The only trips they were interested in taking didn't involve leaving the couch.

He and Edgar had not even spent the night at a friend's house before now because until Sam arrived they had no friends. It didn't bother them; their mission in life was the thankless task of protecting the innocent civilians of Santa Carla from the monsters that would kill them given half an opportunity. Something like that made a person a little unusual, and the other kids avoided them whenever possible. Alan didn't really care. Edgar actively encouraged it. Sam was odd too, but in a different way. And Alan suspected that had Sam's brother not fallen in with the vampire gang, Sam wouldn't be their friend either.

As though he sensed Alan's need for distraction, Sam obligingly filled the silence with whatever popped into his head. Comic books, movies, music, and any other random thought that entered his mind. Alan simply lay staring at the ceiling, replying occasionally. It was impossible to dwell on the problems trying to spin around his head when someone laying next to him kept asking his opinion on the latest Batman storyline and who made the best Robin.

Sam's mom knocked on the door several times during the night requesting they switch off the lights and go to sleep. Alan marveled at that. He wondered what it would be like to have a mother who actually cared about something so trivial as a bed time. Probably not that great, he decided. It would make going out in the middle of the night to hunt vampires more difficult. But on the other hand, a regular supply of pie like the slice she had given him earlier that evening might be enough to make having to sneak around worthwhile.

Each time she came in, Sam agreed to go to sleep, and then completely ignored her. He spoke more quietly for a few minutes, and then continued as though she had never said a word.

During the night, Sam's dog alternated between the bottom of his bed and sharing the space on the floor with Alan. He snored, and he growled and twitched in his sleep as though he was having a nightmare. When Sam finally dropped off some time in the early hours of the morning, he too tossed and turned. With the constant flow of Sam's chatter gone, there was nothing to prevent Alan dwelling on the evening's events. He switched off the light, and then lay in the dark, silently staring at the ceiling for most of the night.

He wondered what Edgar was doing, and whether he had noticed that Alan was gone. Whether, for that matter, he even cared.

Breakfast at the Emerson house meant fried bacon, eggs, pancakes and maple syrup. Sam grinned and whispered that they would normally have a slice of toast or a bowl of cereal, but his mom wanted to be a good hostess. Alan went to school feeling well fed to the point where he thought he might burst.

They rode their bikes to school. As they approached the gates, Alan slowed. Sam applied his brakes and turned to look at him while still peddling slowly forward, paying no attention to the road ahead of him. “We're going to be late.”

Alan slowed further and came to a complete stop just a few yards from the entrance. “Maybe I should go home.” he said.

Sam frowned. “Why?”

“Edgar...” Alan hesitated, realizing he wasn't sure whether he wanted to go home because he thought his brother would be there, or because he wouldn't.

“You can't avoid him by playing hookey, you'd probably get home and find out he did the same thing.”

Alan still hesitated.

“Anyway, you'll get in trouble if you leave now,” Sam added. “Mr. Mahoney's seen us.” He pointed to a thin man in his late fifties wearing a hideous brown suit and wire framed glasses.

Alan sighed in resignation, and nodded. They wheeled their bikes inside and locked them together before they split up to go to their separate classes.

* * *

Edgar was not having a good day. In fact, his day so far had been the very definition of not good. The night before, when he had returned home to find the store closed up early and Alan nowhere to be found, he had assumed his brother would be in his bedroom. He wasn't there.

He searched the house, wandered up and down the boardwalk a few times, and then went to bed worried and furious, and spent the whole night trying and failing to sleep as frightening thoughts invaded the half dreams from which he constantly woke.

That morning, despite being certain that he would have woken had Alan come in during the night, Edgar checked his brother's bedroom again, and found it empty. He started to panic. He called the Emerson house, hoping that Sam knew something, but the telephone just kept ringing with no reply. He checked the time, it was late. Sam would have left for school already, his mom was probably out or at work, and Michael might have been returned to fully human, but he still seemed to retain a few vampire habits, such as sleeping most of the day.

He waited at home for half the morning, pacing his room, wandering in and out of the store, looking for evidence of a fight. He walked up and down the boardwalk again, and around the back of the house. It was as though Alan had simply disappeared into the air. At around eleven, frantic with worry, he grabbed his bike from the back of the house. It was only then that he realized Alan's bike was missing.

Edgar stopped and stared at the space where the bike was suppose to be, wondering how he had missed it before. He checked the ground around the fence post where it should have been fastened, looking for the wire combination lock that usually held it in place. He didn't see it cut in half and laying on the ground, presumably the bike hadn't been stolen. That meant that wherever his brother had gone, he had gone under his own power. Unless whoever had taken him had also taken the bike to confuse anyone looking for him, but that was far too complicated a thought for Edgar to get his head around in the middle of so much stress.

Worry gave way to irritation in his mind. If Alan was going to deliberately disappear in the middle of the night, he could at least leave a note. Fuming, but still worried, he went to school, because it was the only place that he could think of.

He cycled so quickly that the muscles of his legs burned in protest, and when he arrived, scanned the row of chained bikes outside, searching for his brother's. He didn't see it, but there were so many that it would be easy to miss.

Teachers at Santa Carla's largest public school did not take kindly to kids wandering the halls when they were supposed to be in class. The size of the building and the number of students would make tracking down one person difficult when he didn't know his timetable. He had no idea where his brother would be at just after eleven on a Thursday morning. Not in a class they shared, he knew that much. Therefore his own history class was the one place he had no intention of visiting.

He went straight to Alan's locker, hoping that by some coincidental miracle, he would be there, but he was not. He wandered down a random corridor, peering through the circular windows in the classroom doors, checking the faces of the students, searching for either Alan or Sam. He had no luck. As he looked through the window of a math class, the teacher glanced up at the wrong moment and noticed him.

Edgar froze for a second too long. The teacher, a woman he didn't know, got to her feet and walked to the door. She opened it and looked at him expectantly. “Can I help you?”

Edgar shook his head and turned away.

“I don't think so, young man,” she told him.

Edgar sighed, accepted the detention and the escort to his own class. He sunk into a chair right at the back of the room and pretended he cared about the Civil War for half an hour. He was fighting his own war, there were much more important things going on in his life than school. Things that, terrifying as they were, he couldn't even afford to think about until he knew for certain that Alan was safe. History class was not high on his list of priorities.

He spent his lunch time waiting in their usual meeting spot, listening to his stomach growl but not daring to leave to buy anything in case he missed them, but neither Alan nor Sam materialized.

The relief he had felt when he discovered that Alan had taken his bike with him dissipated gradually as the day dragged on with no sign of him. Worry about Alan and worry about what Alan had told him mingled in his mind to create general feeling of unease. He should never have left the shop. He should have stayed and made sure his brother was safe. He should have stayed and made sure his brother had been lying to him. He should have been there to protect Alan as he had said he would. If he could just find Sam, he could ask what happened. He hoped that Sam was okay too.

* * *

Alan's last class of the day was Spanish. As he left the room after the final bell, he felt someone grab his shoulder tightly from behind. The unexpected contact surprised him and he jumped in shock. He instantly regretted that; the attacker would have felt it and know he had caught him by surprise. He spun around to face whoever it was, adopting a fighting stance, ready to defend himself. He might not know any defensive spells, but he could thump an evil Practitioner in the nose just as easily as anyone else. He turned to see Edgar, staring at him with a look of pure fury.

“Where the hell have you been?” his brother demanded. “You didn't come home last night. I've been looking for you all day. I thought something had happened to you.”

Alan dropped his fists and relaxed, just slightly. He was in no danger from Edgar. At least, he didn't think he was, but he kept his defenses up just in case. “I stayed at Sam's,” he said.

“Why did you do that?” Edgar asked, “Don't tell me you were doing more...”

“No!” Alan interrupted before he could finish. “No, I just thought it might be better if I kept away for a while.”

Edgar shook his head and grabbed hold of Alan's t-shirt, crumpling it into a mid chest handle, he pulled hard, half dragging his brother to a less populated corner. “Better how, exactly? You went AWOL with no warning. I thought... I don't even know what I thought. I almost went round to the magic shop to see if you'd gone back to the warl... to the wizard.”

“Practitioner.” Alan muttered, shaking his head. As Edgar let go of his t-shirt, he instinctively brushed out the creases, then folded his arms and treated Edgar to a carbon copy of his own angry glare. “You stormed out first. Where did _you_ go, anyway?”

Edgar scowled at him. “For a walk,” he said. “So, you didn't go to him, and you didn't try any more... magic?” He dropped his voice on the last word and glanced around the hall as though he was discussing something illegal.

“No, I didn't.”

“And you don't plan to, right?”

Alan sighed. He still thought it would be a good thing to be able to defend himself, but considering Edgar's reaction to the idea, to do it would risk his relationship with his brother. If just the suggestion and the resulting fight hadn't done that already. He shook his head. Damage control, “No, I'm done with that. You're right, it was a stupid idea.”

Edgar looked at him uncertainly. Alan wasn't lying, but he didn't exactly mean what he said either. Edgar sensed that. Eventually, he let it go. “Yeah, it was. You're an idiot.” His expression softened slightly. “But judging by what I said to you last night, stupidity runs in the family.”

Alan almost smiled, until he remembered how angry he was.

“Look,” Edgar took a breath, and looked uncomfortable, as his finger played with the ever present strip of material tied around his head. “I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean what I said. Well, I did mean that I don't want you studying magic. No way. But I didn't mean the other things. I didn't mean to call you... what I did.”

“A freak?”

Edgar looked away. “Yeah, can we just drop it now? I said sorry.”

Alan nodded

“Good. Now, talking of stuff running in the family, the thing that you told me..?”

Now it was Alan's turn to look uncomfortable. He forced himself to maintain eye contact. “I didn't mean to say it. I wasn't going to tell you, but I got so angry, and I just thought that if you knew about yourself you'd stop acting like I was...” he paused, “what you said.”

“So you said it to punish me.”

Alan shook his head in denial “No! I...”

Edgar held up a hand to silence him. “Yeah, you did. And I deserved it. But just for the record, is it true?”

There was a kind of pleading in Edgar's expression, as though he was imploring his brother to take back what he had told him. For a moment Alan toyed with the idea of doing just that, but they had never been able to lie to one another. Their truth detector was useful, it worked on other people too, with varying degrees of accuracy, but it rendered them both almost completely incapable of convincing the other of something untrue. If he tried to lie, Edgar would see straight through it. And that would further erode the trust between them.

Alan nodded wordlessly, looking downwards as he did, then slowly raised his gaze to meet his brother's. “I'm sorry,” he muttered.

Edgar appeared to slump slightly, but recovered almost instantly. “Okay,” he said. “That's okay. Not a problem. And it doesn't change a thing. If this is what we've always been, knowing about it can only be a good thing, right? Means we're prepared. Just as long as it doesn't get out to the monster hunting community, it'd ruin our credibility. Just tell me you didn't tell anyone else.”

“I told Sam,” Alan told him.

“Shit. Why would you..?” He shook his head in resignation, “Fine, that's okay, we can trust Sam. We'll just have to make sure he doesn't spread it around.”

Alan frowned. “There's a monster hunting community?”

“Of course there is,” Edgar smiled. “Somewhere out there. We can't be the only ones who know the truth. We just need to make a name for ourselves and they'll make contact.” He turned away and begun to walk down the hall. “Come on, lets get out of here.”

Alan watched his brother leave for a moment, not sure what to make of his reaction. Then he jogged a few steps to catch up.

They walked outside, side by side, the rhythm of their steps in time to one another again. Alan allowed himself a small smile, and straightened his beret. “What are we going to do about the warlock?” he asked.

“I thought we didn't call them that.” Edgar shot back at him.

Alan shook his head. “Not the good guys, no. The murderer we do.”

“Fair enough.” Edgar shrugged. “He's taking out the other magicians. Normally I'd say leave him to it, let him take care of our problem for us, but given the circumstances... He's killing innocent people. That's not okay.” 

Alan nodded.

“I just wish I had an idea how to find him.”

They waited by the bikes for Sam to arrive. Around them, kids began to filter out of school, one at a time at first, then suddenly in their hundreds. As the crowd began to thin, Alan gave voice to the thought in his head. “We could ask Anthony for help.”

“Ask the wizard? The one that wants to train you up as his apprentice? I don't think so. I'm willing to admit he might not be quite as evil as I thought, but after what he did, as far as I'm concerned, he's still the enemy.”

“Ever heard the phrase 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend?'”

Edgar shrugged, “Sure, but sometimes the enemy of my enemy is a wizard who wants my brother to learn spells. I bet he'd by trying to teach me too if he didn't know I'd punch him in the face.”

Alan shook his head. “He didn't want you to know about it. Sophie wants you to learn, but Anthony would rather keep you out of danger. As soon as your power is unlocked, you're a target.”

Edgar's eyes widened in panic and he spun his head in all directions looking for anyone that might have overheard them. No one seemed to paying them any attention whatsoever. “Keep your voice down when you say things like that! Anyway, that's not going to happen,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Ever.”

“I know that, we're not even talking about that.” Alan lowered his own voice in order to feel less like he was shouting in comparison to Edgar. “But we're sill on the same side; us, Anthony and Sophie. We all want the warlock gone. And it makes sense to team up.”

“We're talking about two people whose response to being stalked by an evil warlock murderer is to keep moving towns, taking him with them on a killing spree tour of the country. They haven't exactly been going out of their way to stop him up to this point.”

Alan sighed deeply. Edgar was right, but that didn't mean working alone made any more sense. He scanned the school grounds and sighted Sam walking out of the building. Sam saw them at the same time, grinned and waved enthusiastically. Edgar and Alan glanced at him. Alan raised one hand quickly to return the greeting, and then they turned back to one another.

“Those guys aren't like us.” Edgar said. “ _Maybe_ we've got something in common with them,” his face distorted in disgust, “I guess there's nothing we can do about that. But they chose magic as a career. And now they go around trying to recruit other people, messing up their lives, accidentally setting psycho killers on them. As far as I'm concerned, they deserve whatever they might get.”

Alan sensed that Edgar wasn't done. He waited for the continuation.

Edgar noticed the expectant look and rolled his eyes. “But, a temporary team up to defeat a common enemy isn't unheard of in comic books. If we can't come up with anything else, then fine. Maybe.”

As Sam arrived, he placed himself between the brothers and slung one arm around each of their shoulders. He grinned happily. “See, together again. I told you you guys would be okay.”

Edgar stepped to the side, shrugging off the arm and escaping from what was dangerously close to becoming a group hug. “Lets go. We've got plans to make.”


	11. Chapter 11

“I wish those guys had opened their stupid shop someplace else,” muttered Edgar, not for the first time.

They were in Edgar's bedroom. Edgar sat on the floor, staring hard at an almost completely blank piece of lined paper as though willing it to tell him the answers. He tapped his pencil three times on the edge of it leaving three thick lines.

Behind him, Sam was laying on the bed as though he owned the place. His head was supported by the palms of his hands and he stared upwards as though uninterested in what was happening around him. “I think they did,” he said. “The murderer followed them, so they moved on. Knowing this place, they were bound to end up here eventually.”

“Yeah, well I wish they hadn't.” Edgar said. He sighed, massaged his forehead with his fingertips and looked to Alan expectantly. “You're the expert here,” he told him. “You read the books. What works against magic? I need an equivalent to garlic and holy water, 'cause I'm guessing they won't help us much.”

Alan shook his head. “The best weapon against black magic is good magic.”

“Well then we're shit out of luck, aren't we? Because I don't believe in good magic. And anyway, we're trying to think of things we can do ourselves without having to involve your friends. We go to them as a last resort only.”

Sam stretched, swung his legs around the side of the bed and sat up. “Sorry, Edgar, but I think he's right. I mean, we've got no idea how to find the bad guy. There might be a way to do it with magic.”

“If there was a way to do it with magic, wouldn't the warlock... the wiza... wouldn't he have done it already?”

“And even if we could find him on our own, what would we do with him?” Sam continued as though Edgar hadn't said a word. “He'll be vulnerable to the same things as any other human. I don't think they melt if you pour water on them Wizard of Oz style, unfortunately.”

He paused, looking thoughtful. Edgar stared at him impatiently.

“What? You got an idea?”

Sam shook his head. “No, I was just thinking, if there was some kind of Kryptonite for practitioners, you guys'd both have to stay away from it, wouldn't you?” he grinned. “ _I'd_ get to save the day.”

Edgar fixed him with a scowl that killed his smile instantly. Sam gulped theatrically and glanced at Alan, he found a similar expression of his face.

“Alright, too soon to make jokes. Got it. My point is, he might be an evil, magical warlock murderer, but he's human too; if you want to kill him you'd probably need to use a gun or something. I don't know about you guys, but there's no way I could do it. Vampires, sure. Humans, even murderers? No way. We should at least see if the magic guy has any suggestions.”

Alan cleared his throat. “Or, if the murderer wants me, I could go outside alone and wait for him to take me,” he suggested. “You could watch and follow...”

“Okay, damn it. You're right, we need the wizard's help.” Edgar said quickly.

Alan shared a triumphant glance with Sam.

Edgar sighed heavily and crumpled up the sheet of paper that was by now supposed to be full of ideas. He tossed it across the room into the waste paper bin and got to his feet. “All right, let's go now. Get it over with,” he said, pretending not to realize that he had been manipulated. “But we're straight in and out again. Alan, don't touch anything. Don't even look at anything if you can help it. In fact, you stay here. Sam and I can handle this.”

“I'm going.” Alan told him determinedly.

Edgar pursed his lips in irritation, but he didn't have the energy for another fight with Alan, not as well as whoever else they might be up against. “Fine. Just be careful,” he warned, nodding his reluctant agreement.

* * *

It had been a particularly slow night. It was strange how unpredictable the Santa Carla boardwalk could be. One night Anthony would be rushed off of his feet serving customers, the next would be like this. Outside, he could see and hear the same kinds of crowds as on other days, but tonight they were looking for other forms of entertainment. He checked his watch. It had been half an hour since his last customer, and they hadn't bought anything. He was tired, and very much ready to get into bed.

On the desk in front of him lay his own, private spell book, filled with incantations that he had developed himself over a lifetime of research. His life's work. It was a heavy, hardback leather-bound affair, a gift from his father on his eighteenth birthday, and cherished ever since. One day, if he had the time and the energy, he would publish it. Or perhaps he would just pass it down to Sophie to do whatever she liked with it. Maybe she would add her own creations to the many blank pages still at the back.

He leaned heavily on the desk as he slowly rose to his feet. Sitting still for so long made his muscles protest at his decision to move, and he walked painfully to the door. Just as he started to insert the key in the lock, the door handle turned and someone began to push it open.

Anthony sighed. He should let them in. If someone wanted to buy something, he shouldn't turn them away, it would be bad for business. But he was tired, and he had already made the decision to call it a night; it was probably just another teenager trying to buy a love potion, and if it was a serious customer, they would be willing to return the next day. He held the door closed with his foot and called out to whoever was on the other side. “Sorry, I'm just locking up for the night, can you come back tomorrow?”

The person on the other side of the door gave it a shove. The force behind it was stronger than Anthony and he was forced to move out of the way and allow entry to whoever was out there. The terrifying thought that perhaps the killer had finally grown tired of toying with them and had decided to end it occurred. Frantically, he tried to remember the incantations for some fighting spells and thought about what Sophie would think when she returned home to find him gone. If the killer hadn't taken her already...

When the door opened fully to reveal Edgar Frog, he breathed a sigh of relief. His self-appointed nemesis wore a grim expression. Behind him stood Alan and their friend whose name Anthony couldn't remember. They looked less unfriendly, though Alan appeared decidedly nervous.

“Not really, no,” said Edgar with a shake of his head. “Believe me, if I had a choice this is the last place I'd be, but it looks like we might need your help.”

For a moment, Anthony was too immobilized by surprise to move. He took a few seconds to recover, then took a step back and allowed them to enter. The three of them trooped inside in silence and stood in an uncomfortable looking group just on the inside of the door.

Edgar, clearly the leader, or the one who saw himself as the leader, remained in front of the other two, deliberately keeping himself between Anthony and his brother. He folded his arms across his chest defensively and glared at Anthony with obvious suspicion, as though he expected the old man to attack him.

Anthony ignored the open display of hostility. He stepped around the group to lock the door.

“Leave it.” Edgar told him. He side stepped into his path turning slightly as he did, ensuring that he didn't take his eyes off of the practitioner for a second. He blocked his path to the door.

Alan touched his brother lightly on the arm. Edgar's eyes flicked toward him for a moment, then immediately back to Anthony.

“Relax, Edgar. He's not going to hurt us.”

Edgar scowled.

“Let him lock the door,” Alan said. “Or someone might come in and see you in here. Unless you don't mind people knowing about...”

“Alright!” Edgar snapped before his brother could finish. “Fine, you win.” He stepped out of Anthony's way, still not taking his eyes off of him. “No funny business,” he warned.

Anthony locked the door and left the key in the lock for Edgar to use if he wanted. “You came to me for help,” he said. “If you mistrust me so badly, why would you do something like that?”

The friend grinned, “Ignore Edgar, he's a little paranoid. Not without reason, though.”

“Sam.” Edgar silenced him with a word and a look, and Sam shrugged.

* * *

Edgar hated the magic shop. He had hated it since the first time he had set eyes on it, that afternoon when he had noticed it in the middle of his boardwalk. The first time he had been inside, he had hated the way it looked so quaint and harmless, with its old, iron cash register and the price tags handwritten in cursive script. Everything about the place was designed to lull people into a false sense of security. He hated that it represented the normalization of magic; the idea that anyone could go in and learn witchcraft or buy spells. It was evil.

But tonight he hated it even more. The atmosphere inside appeared to be thick with foreboding. Little by little, magic had begun to invade his life, slowly wrapping it's evil tendrils around everything he knew and tainting it with its supernatural stink. And now, despite how hard he had struggled not to allow it in, he found himself visiting this place with the intention of working with the man responsible. He made no attempt to disguise the suspicion in his glare as he looked around. Even as he slouched in his chair feigning nonchalance, his eyes flicked from left to right, taking in everything around him, memorizing the contents of the shelves before settling back on the Practitioner, ensuring that he hadn't made any threatening moves since he last checked.

The old man seemed calm and friendly, but that was what set off the alarm bells in Edgar's head. Edgar had been nothing but hostile to him since the first time they met, he had given the man no reason to to trust him, yet here he was inviting them into his place of business after hours, providing them with drinks and snacks. Either he was the most forgiving man ever to walk the earth, or something else was going on. Edgar eyed the plate of cookies on the table in front of him warily. 

Alan had been right about one thing. They had to know as much about their enemy as possible, and no matter what anyone told him about this man, or indeed about his own heritage, they were in enemy territory right now.

It bothered him how calm Alan seemed, almost as though he was comfortable in the shop. Sam, too. He looked around as Edgar did, taking in everything, but he appeared interested rather than apprehensive. Then, with no thought to his own safety, he picket up an oatmeal cookie from the plate, and took a bite.

Edgar gave both of them a frustrated glare and then turned his attention back to the old man who was calmly sipping a cup of black coffee. “Okay, enough with the coffee break. There's a murderer out there, and he might be coming for my brother. We need ideas; we need to know how to protect ourselves, and how to find him before he finds us.”

Anthony took a long sip of steaming hot coffee, then sat back in his chair thoughtfully.

Edgar waited, forcing himself not to tap his foot impatiently as he stared at his enemy, waiting for answers.

“You ask difficult questions,” the old man told him eventually.

“Yeah, well if they were easy questions, we'd know the answers ourselves and we wouldn't need to be here, would we?”

Alan shot Anthony an apologetic glance, and then looked down at the table before Edgar noticed.

“Finding someone is relatively easy,” Anthony explained. “All you need is something that belongs to them, or something that they have a connection to. A piece of jewelery, fabric from their clothes, a drop of blood, even just a single strand of hair. Unfortunately, not knowing who we are looking for, we have no access to these things.”

“So how about avoiding him?” Sam asked

“Difficult again,” Anthony told them. “Sophie and I have been running from him for a long time. But unfortunately we don't have a method of keeping him away. We have wards up against all kinds of unpleasant creatures, but not against him. Again, if I knew who he was and had something of his, I could set up a barrier to keep him out of our home, but I don't.”

Edgar sighed. “So, this is a big waste of time. If you're not doing anything to protect yourselves, how come he hasn't killed you yet, anyway?”

“Edgar!” Sam said, shocked, but the old man just shook his head.

“It's a fair question. I don't know why we have been spared. Sometimes I think he just wants to torture us.”

“So you're not doing anything to keep him out of here,” Sam said, “but is there anything you could do? I mean, if you wanted to? Don't you have any wards that could keep him away?”

Anthony shook his head. “It's theoretically possible, I suppose, but it would be pointless to try. It would have to be designed to keep out any person with the gift, which would include myself, Sophie and a good proportion of my customers.”

Sam nodded, “But what about at Edgar and Alan's place? Could you put one up there?”

Anthony began to answer but was cut off by a frantic hand waving from a horrified Edgar. “No! We're looking for ways to get rid of the warlock, not for experimental spells to use in our home! What's wrong with you, Sam?”

“It wouldn't work anyway,” Anthony told them.

Alan's face set into an unreadable expression. “Because of me,” he said quietly. “It would keep me out too. Maybe even you as well, Edgar.”

Edgar's fist clenched briefly and he glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. “Alright, enough about magic. We're looking for real solutions here.”

“Unfortunately,” Anthony told him with a ghost of a smile, “magic is the only solution that we have. I doubt you came to me expecting anything else, so why don't you stop pretending otherwise and listen to what I have to say.”

“Do you have anything to say? Except a list of things that you can't do, that is? Because if you have something that might actually work, I'm all ears.” Edgar regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He meant every one of them, but he hadn't come where with the intention of making the guy that could do magic angry. Even if he wasn't the murderer, that still sounded like a very bad idea. He swallowed. “Um, what I mean is...”

“What he means is, 'please help us if you can,' right, Edgar?” Sam interjected.

Edgar chewed on his bottom lip and fixed his gaze firmly on the table in front of him. He had known coming to the magic shop would involve discussing magic, he just wanted to make it as clear as possible how against it he was. He sighed. “Yeah, that.”

Anthony took another sip of his coffee and looked closely at his three visitors over rim of his cup. “We are talking about a very powerful individual,” he said. “You won't find him by conventional methods. In every city, the police search for him, and every time they fail. Even if they did find him, I doubt they would be able to hold on to him for very long. We need a more permanent solution.”

“It sounds like you're saying we need to kill him.” Sam said.

Anthony looked at him sharply, “Not necessary,” he said, “but I'm an old man. I'm tired of running. We need to stop him from killing, any way we can.”

“Well, there's something it'd be tough to argue with,” Edgar said. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Okay, magical solutions. Go.”

Anthony thought for a moment. He looked at Alan in a way that Edgar didn't like, peering at him so closely that he could almost believe that he was looking inside him.

“Wh...” Edgar said, cut off before he could form a word.

“I need some time,” Anthony told them.

Alan frowned. “Hasn't the guy been following you around for years?”

“Yeah, you're only now trying to think up a way to stop him?” Edgar added.

“No,” Anthony told them, “I'm trying to think of a way to locate him. We may not have anything belonging to him, but I think our adversary has been kind enough to provide me with a possible clue. I need a little time to figure out how I can use it.”

Edgar resisted the urge to quiz the old man on exactly what he was talking about. If he wanted to be deliberately cryptic, fine; they weren't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing them begging for information. Instead, he got to his feet and leaned forward, deliberately invading the old man's personal space. “Fine. But anyone else dies while you're having a think, it's on you. Got it? Just like everyone else that's died while you and the girl did nothing to stop it. So think fast, because if anything happens to Alan, or to anyone else, I'm holding you personally responsible.”

He turned away and marched to the door. Sam and Alan stood to follow him. As they did, Anthony reached over and touched Alan on the arm. “There's something I need to tell you in private,” he said. “Something important.”

With his hand on the door key, Edgar spun around and glared at the man.

Alan shook his head, “Whatever it is, you can say it in front of Edgar and Sam,” he told him.

“I really think it would be better if I could just speak to you.” Anthony insisted. 

Alan hesitated, then turned to his brother for guidance.

Edgar shook his head. Alan repeated the gesture to Anthony, then hesitated. “No, it's fine, Edgar. You guys wait outside.”

Edgar looked from Alan to the old man and back again. It was easy to give orders and decide on the rules when people didn't question his authority, but when one of his soldiers started making decisions for himself, decisions Edgar didn't like, there wasn't actually a lot he could do about it. 

He sighed, frustrated, then shrugged. “Fine. We'll be just outside the door. Stay where I can see you through the window. Two minutes. Not a second longer or I'm coming back in.” With a final glare of warning to both of them, he let himself out of the shop. Sam followed and closed the door behind them.

“I can't believe you agreed to that,” Sam told him.

“I trust my brother,” Edgar said, and then peered through the shop window wishing that he felt as certain as he sounded.


	12. Chapter 12

As a child, Sophie had believed in magic in the way that every child believes in it. She had believed in fairy godmothers, and evil witches and everything in between. Her parents had told her that there was no such thing. They had been lying. Not just wrong, like the parents of her friends who stopped believing a long time ago; they had known about magic, and they had chosen to tell her it wasn't real.

She hadn't believed them, she had seen through their lies in the way that she had always been able to. She had known her whole life that there was no Santa Claus, and no Tooth Fairy, but that magic was very real. And then one day, a man had come to her house and killed her parents. He had used magic, and from that day she had known that magic was evil.

It had taken a lot of convincing from her Grandfather to make her believe otherwise, but he was patient, and a good teacher. When at last, she wasn't afraid, he had released her magical abilities and begun to teach her what she could do.

He had taught her about the different kinds of magic in the world. He had taught her that no magic was inherently evil, but the purpose it was used for could be. He taught her that there were two main kinds of magic in the world, the kind that required talent, and the kind that could be done by anyone. She thought of the latter as a form of science. It required belief that it would work, and strong intent to get the required result, so it was far from the kinds of science she was forced to learn in school, but anyone could do it if they took the time to learn.

Her grandfather's favorite kind of magic involved elements of the two, taking a spell that anyone could perform, and mixing in a little real magic. The magic lent power to what would otherwise be a very weak spell and its base in folklore provided a stability that other spells might lack.

Very slowly, Sophie mixed the sugar and water together in a glass gar. She stirred with a wooden stick, in a clockwise direction, muttering the required words as she did. She added a slice of licorice root for control and a strand of her target's hair, then she sprinkled in a pinch of ground poppy seeds . The hair had been easy to get, simply by walking past him and taking the strand left resting on his shoulder. He had no idea how vulnerable his carelessness had left him. Those who didn't know the ways of the Practice were so easy to target.

This spell was one of those that could be performed without even a hint of magical talent; the right ingredients in the right order, combined with faith and intent would get the job done. But the effect would be so weak that it would be difficult to tell whether it had worked at all.

She screwed the lid of the jar tightly closed and spoke several more words. In fact, the words used made little difference, they served to focus the mind in the right direction. Her grandfather favored an old Cornish dialect that outside of their family probably hadn't been used in centuries. Sophie spoke in modern American English, repeating over and over in whispered tones what she wanted the spell to do.

As she spoke, she placed her hands around the edge of the glass, feeling its smooth surface with her palms and imagined magic as heat flowing from her skin into the jar, infusing the spell with her own power. She forced in only a little magic will. She had so much more power than she was using, more than enough to completely change her target's opinion and make him believe anything she told him too, but this kind of thing was best done more carefully. She lit the candle and tilted it over the lid of the jar, allowing three drops of molten purple wax to land in the center, then she pressed the candle onto the lid and held it steady until the wax solidified, holding it in place.

She wished that she could just take what she wanted, twist her victim's thoughts to suit her purpose, but she had learned to be more careful than that. To suddenly change his opinion would be disconcerting, he would realize what had happened. That kind of spell, forcing its way into his mind like a blunt knife, would not only risk doing spiritual damage that might make him useless to her, but would also instantly alert Edgar Frog to what was happening. If he somehow managed to warn someone, it would all be over.

So this was the best option. She would work on him gently. The spell would soften his mind to her and make him more susceptible to her charms. She would be able to convince him to listen to her, while still influencing him magically to trust her. She could then use what she knew to convince him to see sense. When she was done, he would be certain that it was her logic and not her magic that had changed his mind.

* * *

Frustration forced its way out of Edgar's body in the form of a low growl. Alan's time limit had expired several minutes ago, and although a glance through the window revealed his brother still standing perfectly safe at the back of the shop talking to the old man, Edgar didn't like it. He had said two minutes. He had allowed them extra time. Enough was enough.

“Calm down,” Sam told him, looking pointedly at the concerned glances from people walking past.

“ _You_ calm down,” Edgar snapped. He knew it made no sense, but it made him feel better, somehow. “What the hell are they talking about in there? I swear, if he's still trying to make Alan do magic, I'll...” he shook his head. 

“Alan can take care of himself, you know.”

Edgar glared at Sam through narrowed eyes. “Yeah, he's really done a great job of proving it lately,” he said.

Sam shrugged and made a lip zipping gesture. He turned around and leaned against the yellow glass of the window.

Edgar growled again. “Alright, that's it! I'm going to get him.”

He brushed past Sam, who was positioned between him and the door, and grabbed hold of the handle like it was a wild animal that might bite him back. He twisted it hard and pushed open the door, putting the full force of his strength behind it. Just a split second earlier, from the inside, Alan pulled it open.

Edgar stumbled forward under the force of his own momentum and almost fell onto the floor inside the shop. He was saved only by the strength of his double handed grip on the door handle, that allowed him to remain in a more or less upright position. Still hanging onto the door, he regained his balance and shot a look of irritation at the old man as though he had somehow caused his humiliation. Then he backed off quickly out of the door, allowing Alan to exit after him.

Alan glanced back into the shop before he left, then he walked out quickly, giving Edgar a puzzled look as he did. Edgar glanced away, feeling heat in his cheeks as embarrassment pumped the blood to his face. Alan pulled the door closed behind him and inside, Edgar heard the sound of the key being turned. He turned to his brother. “So, what was that about?”

Alan shrugged. Edgar looked at him critically. Inside the shop, Alan had seemed completely at ease in a way that made Edgar very uncomfortable. It hadn't just been the way he had asked them to leave, taking charge, making decisions that Edgar would normally make for him. Something about his manner had appeared more confident than usual, as though he was on familiar ground. But now his brother appeared worried. Something had happened in the past few minutes that had changed everything. The confidence was gone.

“It was a couple of things.” Alan said. His voice sounded flat, as though he was trying to appear calm and had instead cut all the emotion out of his voice.

Sam leaned forward excitedly, looking at Alan with curiosity, eager to find out what he had missed. “A couple of things like..?” He had somehow managed not to notice that something was wrong. How, Edgar had no idea.

“Anthony has a plan to find the warlock, he's fairly sure it's going to work, but he still wants to teach me the defensive spells. If everything goes to plan, I'd probably never have to use them, but if it doesn't work, he wants me to be able to defend myself.”

“And you told him no, I assume?” Edgar said.

Alan nodded reluctantly.

“I think you should do it.” Sam told him. “You need to be able to fight the bad guy off if he's targeting you. It's the same as fighting off vampires, only you use different weapons, right?” He glanced at Edgar.

Edgar set his face into a grim frown and shook his head against the idea.

“Plus,” Sam continued, “I know you guys are against this stuff, but you've got to admit it'd be cool to be attacked and just be able to blast the guy into oblivion.”

Alan shot him half a smile. “Yeah, I guess it...” he stopped as he saw Edgar's expression. “No, it wouldn't. Not cool at all.”

Sam shrugged, but the smile on his face said that he disagreed.

Edgar turned away from him and focused his attention on Alan. “A couple of things, you said,” he prompted. “What's the rest of it?”

“Well...” Alan cleared his throat nervously. “Okay, don't freak out or anything, Edgar.”

Edgar exchanged a glance with Sam.

“I'm think he's starting to freak out,” Sam helpfully supplied.

Alan took a deep breath. “Anthony says there's a spell on me,” he said.

Edgar froze. The instant he heard the words, completely against his will, he felt his every muscle of his body tense to rigidity, effectively immobilizing him mid step. In his head, he processed and analyzed the words, trying to decide that he had misheard, or that there might be an interpretation of them that was less terrifying than the only one he could thing of. There was none.

He forced his lungs to inhale a breath and struggled to regain control of his body, forcing himself to relax to the extent that he could move again. The first thing he did was turn his head from left to right, making sure that no one around them had overheard. Then he tuned to Alan and addressed him in a low whisper.

“What are you talking about? What kind of spell?”

“I'm not sure,” Alan told him. “A scrying spell, he said. Anthony thinks...” he paused to take a deep breath and looked away. When he turned back, the false calm he had been trying to project had evaporated and he looked genuinely terrified. His voice trembled slightly. “He thinks the murderer did it. But he can trace the spell back to the source and find him, so I suppose in a way is is a good thing...”

Edgar realized that he was still shaking his head from side to side as though he was trying to deny that the conversation was happening. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind refused to come up with any intelligible thought, this was one revelation two far for him. Every time he thought it couldn't get any worse, it did. 

“Okay, time out. Wait a minute,” Sam said. He raised a hand in the air like a traffic cop at a broken set of lights, indicating that the drivers stop so that he could tell them when and where to drive. He looked at Alan. “Are you saying that the warlock has put a spell on you? The evil, murderer warlock?”

Alan closed his eyes briefly and nodded. Edgar stood watching silently, frantically trying to force his mind into gear while he fought to control the sick feeling in his stomach.

“And Anthony wants to use the spell to find the warlock?” Sam continued. “So is this the clue that Anthony mentioned? Because I'm thinking this is probably not as good a thing as he seemed to think.”

“No shit,” Edgar muttered. He took three deep breaths in a further effort to calm himself. It seemed to have to opposite effect as the sudden influx of oxygen made his head spin. Because it was at least doing something, and he couldn't make himself stop, he took another deep breath. He knew that he was half way to a panic attack but wasn't sure how to stop it.

Sam looked quickly from one brother to the other, switching from traffic cop to triage nurse trying to decide which of the two cases in front of him was most in need of treatment. He turned to Alan and grabbed hold of his shoulder tightly. “It'll be okay,” he assured him.

Edgar frowned. He was starting to get pins and needles in his fingers and he still couldn't stop himself gasping for air that he didn't need. He opened his mouth to ask how Sam had managed to reach that conclusion when all the evidence appeared to be telling them the opposite, but Sam answered before he had the chance to speak.

“Edgar won't let anyone hurt you. Right, Edgar?” He turned to look at Edgar.

Alan looked at him too, and Edgar saw his own fear reflected back at him in his brother's eyes. Seeing that gave him the clarity of mind to beat the rising panic. He stopped the deep breathing and in a moment of clarity, looked at his brother and best friend and saw that they both believed that he had a plan. They were wrong, but determination to prove Sam right overrode all other emotions; determination to protect Alan and stop the bastard responsible for this by any means necessary.

He nodded once, with a certainty he hadn't felt in a long time. “That's right,” he said. “The warlock is going down.”

He turned around and walked to the low wall that separated the boardwalk from the beach. He leaned against it heavily; he could still feel himself shaking, and he needed the support. He closed his eyes against the bright lights of the boardwalk, trying to think. Sam clasped his shoulder supportively in the same way he had Alan's, and Edgar didn't shrug him off

“All right. Alan, you read the books. Time to put it to good use. What the hell is a scrying spell, what is it going to do to you, and what do we do about it?”

“It won't do anything to me,” Alan assured him. He too leaned against the wall, facing out toward the teeming boardwalk crowds. They passed by without paying the slightest bit of attention to the three worried looking boys huddled on the edge of their peripheral vision. 

“It's a spell to see things that are happening somewhere else.” Alan explained. “You know, like in the movies where someone looks in a crystal ball?”

Edgar and Sam looked at him blankly.

“Like a fortune teller?” Sam asked.

Alan shook his head and waved an arm through the air dismissively, “It doesn't matter. The point is, this guy can see what I see. He can look through my eyes.”

The implication behind the words hit Edgar like a slap in the face and he actually felt himself flinch. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

Alan complied instantly. He waited for Edgar's next instruction, and recoiled in surprise at the unexpected feeling of something touching his face.

“Will you relax?” Edgar told him. “I'm just going to tie this around your eyes so you can't peek.”

“What?” Alan opened his eyes to see his brother had removed his bandanna and was brandishing it in front of him like a weapon. He took sideways step away. “No way. I'll close my eyes but you're not blindfolding me, Edgar.”

“If you're going to close your eyes anyway, what's the difference?”

“There's a difference.”

“Yeah. There is. You can peek when your eyes are closed,” Edgar told him. “If he's using you to watch us, there's obviously something he wants to know. We don't want him to find out whatever it is.”

“Right, but...”

“No, Alan,” Edgar shook his head. “I've been backing down too much lately, letting you change my mind. And sometimes your ideas are better, so I guess that's fine, but right now _I'm_ in charge. Even if you didn't mean to, you'd open your eyes, so wear this or else...” he stopped, letting the threat hang in the air. Or else what? He had no idea. He wouldn't let Alan come home? Alan knew he would never do that to him.

Alan sighed and nodded. “Fine, but I wouldn't have peeked,” he said. It came out sulkily. He grabbed at the bandanna and tied it on himself, making sure it was tight and didn't allow him to open his eyes. He winced. “Edgar, this is all sweaty.”

“We'll get you a fresh one at home. Come on.”

* * *

Alan gave the knot at the back of his head one last tug to ensure it was tight enough, and then reached out in front of himself, hoping to grab onto either Edgar or Sam. Through closed eyes and the dark colored fabric he could just about make out brighter areas where streetlights and the illuminations of the various boardwalk attractions were. The boardwalk was always loud and claustrophobic, but right now it felt more so than it ever had before. His reaching hand found nothing but air and he fought down the idea that Edgar and Sam had walked away without realizing he wasn't following.

“Edgar?” he said uncertainly, reaching out again. His other hand moved to his face to remove the blindfold.

He was stopped by a hand grabbing his own before it reached his eyes. He recognized Edgar's presence and felt himself relax.

“Told you you'd peek,” Edgar said. “Did you think I'd leave you here?” Then, gripping Alan's hand tightly, he began to walk home.

Edgar walked slowly, keeping a minimum of distance between himself and his brother. His hand never broke contact with Alan's, they walked so closely, Edgar just in front of Alan, that their arms touched almost all the way to the shoulder. Through the crowds Edgar ensured that they weren't separated by pushy tourists.

It was one of the most disconcerting experiences of Alan's life. He had grown up on this boardwalk, thinking he knew it like the back of his hand, but he knew that if Edgar disappeared, he would be completely lost. He gripped Edgar's hand tighter, making sure that that wouldn't happen. He trusted Edgar completely; he knew that his brother would never deliberately let him hurt himself, but accidentally was a different matter, He tripped and stumbled as he failed to recognize bumps and dips in the sidewalk, he tripped as they crossed the street. All the time he was certain they were being silently observed by puzzled Santa Carla residents. Through the loud music and the screams from the roller coaster, he could hear people around them walking, talking. He was used to being considered weird, but this was a step too far.

“Here's a question,” Sam said suddenly. His voice came from a few paces behind Alan, as though he was trying to look like he wasn't with them, like he just happened to be walking in the same direction. “If the bad guy suddenly decides to take a peek at what Alan's looking at and he can't see anything, don't you think that's going to tip him off that we're onto him?”

Alan felt Edgar slow as he turned around to look at Sam. For a moment, he didn't reply as he considered his answer. “Good,” he said eventually. “Let him know. We're taking back the upper hand.” He turned his attention back to Alan, “Okay, one step up, bro and we're here.”

Alan felt Edgar step into the store, and reached out with his foot experimentally, finding the step before he did the same.

Sam hung back outside as they entered the comic shop. Alan recognized that they were home by the smell of marijuana hanging in the air. He heard Sam sigh. “Guys, I'm sorry to bail just as it's getting interesting, but if I don't get home soon my mom's going to freak.”

Edgar let go of Alan for long enough to presumably make some kind of gesture. “Fine, go,” he said. “I'll catch you up tomorrow.” He grabbed hold of Alan again, on his shoulder this time.

Alan heard Sam retrieve his bike from just inside the store where he had stowed it earlier. He disappeared without saying another word.

* * *

Edgar half dragged Alan into the back of the shop, where the family kept their small kitchen and sitting room. He pulled out a chair from underneath the table, lined his brother up to it and pushed down on his shoulders. Alan took the hint and sat down.

“Alright. Just to make sure, he can only see what you're seeing, right? He's not listening in on us?”

“Anthony said not,” Alan told him.

Edgar grimaced in disgust at the thought of having to trust the magician. “And did your new best friend tell you why he might be doing this?”

Underneath the blindfold, Alan frowned. “He has an idea.”

“Which is..?”

“You're not going to like it.”

Edgar sat down heavily on the chair opposite him. He gritted his teeth. “I already don't like anything about this, and you know it. What's the reason?”

For a long moment, Alan didn't reply. Edgar waited impatiently, staring at the boy opposite him, who was irritatingly oblivious due to the blindfold.

“You,” said Alan eventually.

“Me? Me what?” The uncomfortable feeling in his chest and the pit of his stomach that hadn't gone away since the night he found the magic books hidden under Alan's bed suddenly grew more intense.

Another long pause. Alan chewed his bottom lip with his front teeth, “Right now your power is locked away. You can't access it...”

“Which is exactly how I want it to stay.” Edgar interrupted.

“Right. But if you can't access it, the warlock can't either. So Anthony thinks he's looking for some way to convince you to switch your power on.”

Edgar took a breath through his nose and out through his mouth. He had considered that he might be a target from the moment Alan had told him the truth, so it was far from a revelation to him, but it was still unpleasant to hear. “Two for one special,” he muttered. “Kill one, get one free.”

Alan fingered the bandanna still covering his eyes. “Can I take this thing off?”

“No.” Edgar got to his feet and began to pace the room. “What does he think he's going to achieve by watching us? Am I suddenly going to say 'Hey, if _whatever_ happened then I'd start taking magic lessons.' Not very likely.”

“You wouldn't just have to say it, you'd need to write it down and then show it to me,” Alan said.

“Maybe the warlock can lipread.”

Edgar walked to the sink and back to the table. He tapped his fingernails on the tabletop and looked at Alan. His brother's hands were resting on the table, scrunched into tight fists, the only outward sign of the tension in his body.

“Okay,” Edgar said, “If he's literally looking through your eyes, he can't be watching all the time. While he's watching us, he won't be able to see what's going on around him.”

Alan exhaled slowly. “I know the feeling,” he said pointedly.

“Quit whining. Maybe this'll teach you not to mess about with magic. So if he's not looking all the time, he might not have found what he needs yet. We've got to assume that he hasn't, or he'd take the spell off, right?”

Alan shrugged.

“Either way, we need to plan our next move quickly.”

“We already know our next move,” Alan told him. “We trace the spell to its source. Well, Anthony does. He wants me to go back tomorrow night.”

Edgar resumed pacing. “Which is damned suspicious, if you ask me. Why didn't he do it there and then?”

“Maybe he wanted me to explain it to you first. Maybe he needs some equipment he hasn't got or something. I don't know, Edgar. If you'd talk to him civilly, he might not have asked you to leave and you could've asked him yourself.” Alan sighed in irritation and pulled the bandanna off over his head. He dropped it on the table and blinked several times. “The warlock's not going to find out anything from the kitchen,” he explained to Edgar's glare. 

Edgar made a low sound in his throat, then pointedly moved himself behind his brother, out of his line of sight. 

Alan obligingly continued to stare forwards rather than turning around to look at him.

Edgar took a minute to consider his options. He didn't have any. “Okay,” he said. “Fine. Tomorrow night we see what the magic guy can do. If you're sure he's one of the good guys, I guess the worst that can happen is it won't work. Stay home tomorrow, and don't look at anything that might give something away.”

“How do I know what's going to give something away?” Alan asked.

Edgar resisted the urge to smack his brother on the back of the head. “That's why the blindfold. But if you won't wear it, stay in your room. I guess if the warlock wants me first, you're safe here alone for a few hours, so I'll go to school and tell Sam what's going on.”

Alan continued to look at the wall opposite him. “But if wants you, _you're_ not safe,” he said quietly.

“I can take care of myself,” Edgar assured him, managing to fill his voice with a certainty that he wasn't feeling. Then, with a final glance at the back of his brother's head, he turned and ran up the stairs before Alan could say anything else. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the charade of confidence. “Remember, stay in your room tomorrow,” he called down.

He slammed his bedroom door and sat down heavily on his bed. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he knew that tonight would be another sleepless night. He felt like a coward for running away.

* * *

Alan waited until he heard Edgar's bedroom door slam closed before he allowed his head to slump forward to rest on his arms. Staring down at the tabletop, he felt moisture gathering inside his eyes and quickly closed them against it. If Edgar came back, which he doubted would happen, the last thing he needed was for his brother to see that.

He stayed there most of the night, unable to summon up the willpower to move. When he finally got to his feet, his parents had locked up the shop on their own and gone to bed, and there was a hand knitted blanket draped around his shoulders.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a scientifically proven fact that Friday was the best day of the week. Or if it wasn't, that was only because there was no need to prove something that everybody already knew. On Fridays, the sun was a little warmer, the people were a little happier and the birds sang a little louder.

The Friday effect was taking its time to kick in on this particular morning. Sam crawled out of bed late, with a sense of impending doom handing over him. It felt like a Monday.

He left his bike at home and got a lift to school from his mom on her way to town. It would mean walking home, but it was better than making the day even worse by starting it out with a detention. He loved his mom, really, he did. But she had absolutely no sense of urgency. Nothing she ever did was rushed. She drove slowly and calmly into town while Sam pressed his face against the window looking out for Edgar and Alan, hoping to get the story on what had happened after he left. If he got into school without seeing them, he would end up having to wait until lunch.

As the car pulled up outside the school gates, he finally noticed Edgar. He was alone, just walking through the gate into the school. Before his mom had stopped the car completely, Sam unbuckled his seat belt and opened the door. He stumbled as he jumped out onto the slowly moving sidewalk.

“Sam..!” His mom shouted, but her attempt to tell him off was cut short when her oblivious son slammed the door closed, waved a thank you for the lift and hurried off after his friend.

Sam half jogged after Edgar, hooking the strap of his backpack over one shoulder as he did. Something seemed different about his friend. As he approached, he regarded him critically from behind. There was nothing new in what he was wearing. He and Alan never were irritatingly determined to keep to their own style, never mind that it made them stick out a mile around school, never mind that Sam had offered to go shopping with them, they were very happy with their army surplus store look. It was almost as though they didn't care. Sam had long since given up on the idea of changing them.

As he approached, he realized what was wrong. There was only one Frog marching up the drive toward the school this morning, and he obviously wasn't prepared for his lessons, he hadn't even brought his school bag with him.

Edgar looked worried. Even from behind, the mood was transmitted through his movements; the slow, heavy tread of his footsteps along the concrete path into the building, and the way he looked down, like he had no interest in what was happening around him. Sam jogged the final couple of steps to catch up with his friend, reached out with one hand and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Hey, Edgar. What's going on? What happened after I left?”

Edgar spun around in surprise, ready for a fight. Sam backed off a step in shock and waited for him to realize who he was. Edgar eventually relaxed. “Sam, good. I thought I was going to have to hang around this place for hours before I found you.”

Sam smiled, “Well, it's nice to be wanted. But you know, technically, I found you.”

The vampire hunter ignored his comment and looked around quickly, assessing his surroundings, taking in the steady line of schoolkids arriving ready for the start of the day, their various locations and the areas that were less busy.

The whole school seemed to be brimming over with Friday feeling, Sam could see it in the bright eyes and smiles of his fellow students as they chattered about their plans for the weekend. Sam still wasn't feeling it, and from the look of Edgar, neither was he.

Edgar's eyes were underlined by dark circles that told of his second sleepless night, possibly even his third or fourth. Sam wondered how Edgar and Alan managed to sleep at all, considering what they knew about their town, and the things they had done. He had had more than his fair share of nightmares since moving to Santa Carla.

“Come here.” Edgar grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him to a less populated area of the school grounds, near the side of the gym. He spoke in a tone only slightly above a whisper, looking around as he did, watching out for anyone that might be able to overhear. “We're going back to see the old man tonight, he's going to try to trace the spell on Alan back to the warlock.”

Sam nodded. That much he already knew.

Edgar grimaced in distaste, “Seems no matter how hard I try to avoid it, we keep having to trust that guy. And now he's going to be doing his own spells on Alan.”

Sam tried to appear sympathetic, but if it was going to solve their warlock problem, he couldn't see a downside to accepting the old man's assistance. “So, I assume Alan is saying home not looking at anything? But – and I'm sorry if this is a stupid question – but isn't he still in danger there on his own.”

Edgar's expression darkened further. “We're working on the assumption that Alan is safe for now. The spell is to get information, until the warlock has that information, he needs Alan alive.”

“That's a hell of an assumption. What if you're wrong?”

“We're not wrong. And it's safer for everyone if Alan stays home today.”

Sam nodded. He didn't agree, but he decided not to argue. From experience he knew that it was best not to question his friend's decisions when he was in this mood. Especially since Edgar's paranoia-driven logic was starting more and more to seem like good sense.

“So, do you know what the spying spell is for?” he asked.

“It's scrying, not spying.”

Sam frowned. “Are you sure? Spying makes more sense.”

Edgar fixed Sam with an incredulous look, then thought about the words. He shrugged and nodded at the same time. “Fine, yeah, I guess it does. But Alan says scrying, and he's the expert. Anyway, we're going back home now, so you can ask him if you want to make sure. Come on.”

Edgar turned and began to walk in the direction of the school gate. Sam watched him go for a few steps, hesitating. When it became clear that Edgar was serious about leaving, Sam jogged a few steps to catch up and once again tapped him on the shoulder.

Edgar turned to look at him.

“We're going now? It's the start of school; the first bell hasn't even rung yet. We can't just leave.”

Edgar gave him a look of pure fabricated confusion. “Why not?”

“Well, we've got classes.”

“This is more important than school,” Edgar told him. “But if you want to stay here, fine. Get yourself an education. I'm sure it'll come in real handy when a vampire's trying to eat you. It's not like you're really involved in this anyway, is it?”

“But...” Sam sighed and shrugged. “No, I'm coming.” He took a slightly nervous step in the direction of the gate, then looked around, expecting to be ambushed by a teacher for the crime of walking in the wrong direction. There were none around that he could see. He took another step. “Wait, so do you know what the _scrying_ spell is for, then?” he tried.

Edgar hesitated visibly before he replied, and Sam could see the internal debate as he decided how to answer the question. He shook his head. “It doesn't matter what the spell's for. We're going to make the warlock regret the day he first picked up spell book.”

“Hmm,” Sam folded his arms and gave his friend a thoughtful look. “But do you _know_ what it's for? Because that kind of information might be useful to know.”

Edgar shook his head. “Yeah, we've got a theory. Well, the wizard has one. But like I said, it doesn't matter.”

“It might matter,” Sam said.

Edgar clenched his fists and took a step forward into Sam's face. Sam automatically stepped back to avoid him, his back hit the outer wall of the gym. “Damn it, Sam! It doesn't. Will you just let it go?”

Sam's widened eyes glanced around for someone to protect him in case Edgar had gone completely nuts. Suddenly, a lack of teachers seemed like a very bad thing. He swallowed, and nodded slowly, feeling the bricks of the wall rubbing against the back of his head as he did.

“Good. Thanks.” Edgar backed off as though suddenly realizing what he was doing. “Um, sorry.” he muttered, and turned to leave.

Sam fixed the back of his hair with his fingers, then chased after his friend.

 

Sophie adjusted the position of her bag's shoulder straps and tried to look inconspicuous as she watched the two boys from across the school grounds. The other one was absent today, which was unexpected, but not a problem. Her efforts to talk to Alan had proved useless, clearly she had pushed too hard the first time and scared him off. Maybe a spell like the one she was using on the brother would have been useful, but it was too late for that now.

It was a shame, because Alan's support would have made things so much easier, but it was time to go directly to the brother. In fact, given his hostility toward her, not having Alan around might even work to her advantage; they were irritatingly protective of one another, if he didn't feel he had to watch out for Alan, Edgar might drop his guard and actually listen to what she had to say.

She brushed a hand through her hair, pushing the flyaway strands back into their proper position. He wasn't remotely interested in her, a fact for which she was eternally grateful, but it never hurt to look your best when trying to win someone over. She just wished she had her grandfather's talents for subtle magic, it would make things so much easier if she could activate the stupid boy's gifts herself. She could do it without his permission, something Anthony would never dream of. As it was, she needed him to want to access his abilities, and to ask her grandfather to help him with it. With this kid, that was going to be difficult.

But with the help of her spell, she was sure it could be done.

The other boy, the friend, was there. Despite his lack of ability he seemed interested in the Practice. He wouldn't pose much of a problem for her; most likely he would take her side if she gave him the opportunity. She took a deep breath, fingered the pentacle pendant around her neck, and walked confidently toward the two friends.

As though he had sensed her presence, Edgar's eyes fixed on her the moment she began walking toward him. He stiffened and scowled in her direction.

She smiled at him in response, trying to appear friendly. If this was what he was like after the spell, she was glad she hadn't tried this before. She continued on undeterred.

As soon as he was sure that he was her target, Edgar turned away from her. He grabbed Sam by the sleeve of his jacket and tugged him away, still heading toward the gate. That wasn't part of the plan. She increased her speed and caught up to them. Edgar stopped walking only when she planted herself firmly between him and the school gate. She smiled again.

“Hi, Edgar, where's your brother today?”

“He's sick,” Edgar told her. He stepped around her and continued walking without so much as glancing at her face, still dragging a confused looking Sam by the sleeve.

“Mono,” Sam added, turning back to look at her as they walked, “highly contagious. I'd keep away from him if I were you. But if you're looking for someone to hang out with, I'm available.” He smiled, then stumbled as Edgar gave the sleeve a hard tug. “Hey! This jacket wasn't cheap, you know!”

He was cute, she thought, in a naïve kind of way. It was unfortunate that she didn't have the slightest bit of interest in him. She turned her attention back to Edgar, following after him as he walked.

“Actually, it's you I wanted to talk to.” She placed a hand on his arm and saw a literal shudder of distaste run through his body. If she cared what he thought, she might have been offended. “It's about magic,” she said, speaking in a lower voice. “I don't think you want to talk about it here.” She glanced around. There were fewer people around now to over hear, but if she knew the kid, he wouldn't want to risk anyone finding out. “Meet me at lunchtime just outside the science labs, we'll go somewhere quiet.”

Edgar hesitated. She watched his eyes flick from left to right as he recognized the veiled thread in her words. He was certainly not stupid, this hater of all things magical, though he obviously couldn't grasp the idea that hating the supernatural meant hating himself, his brother and his entire family. Or maybe he did, maybe that was why he was in such a bad mood all the time.

He adopted a defensive pose and glared at her with dislike. She felt his eyes move to her pendant, focusing all of his hatred onto the symbol. She reached for the spell that she had cast the previous night, to force in a little more magic, twist his arm a little further, but as she tried to grasp it, she found it missing. No connection had been made, and there was nothing there to manipulate.

It was like reaching into a pocket for some money she knew was there and finding it gone. She managed to disguise her shock at the discovery, but barely. This had never happened before. When she cast a spell, the spell stayed cast until she broke it. She didn't even know it was possible to break someone else's spell. She looked carefully at Edgar, wondering what he was hiding.

If he even knew that the spell had been there in the first place, he gave no outward sign other than the same undisguised hatred with which he always looked at her. His body language said that he wanted to tell her to go to hell, but something – something other than her non-existent spell – convinced him to agree to her request. Self preservation, presumably, a response to the implied threat that she might blab his secrets.

In reply, he nodded once, curtly, then he looked reluctantly at the school gate, released his grip on Sam's jacket and turned back into the grounds.

Sophie watched him disappear around the corner with his friend almost jogging to keep up. As soon as he was out of sight, she slipped out of school herself.

 

She barely noticed the world around her on the short walk home. She walked against the flow of kids heading into school, paying no attention to then as they stared, wondering why she was walking in the wrong direction. The spell had been broken. It was impossible, it went against everything she knew about magic. Only the spellcaster could break the spell.

The only explanation was that the spell had never been completed in the first place. She thought back to the casting, she knew that everything had been done correctly, she had done the same thing dozens of times before. The hair she had used had been taken right from Edgar Frog's shoulder, it was the right color, it could only be his. The ingredients had been fresh, the candle she burned had been new.

With an irritated sigh, she increased her pace until she was almost jogging home. Panic that she had been discovered began to set in, and once the thought was in her head, it wouldn't leave until she knew for certain.

She entered through the back door, turning her key in the lock as quietly as she could, hoping that her grandfather would be busy in the shop and wouldn't hear her. As she pushed open the door, her hope of that was shattered as she found herself face to face with the old man pouring himself a large mug of coffee.

Anthony glanced up in surprise as she entered. He put the coffee pot down and looked at her in confusion, then checked his watch. “Why aren't you in school?” he asked.

Sophie smiled reassuringly and reached for a spell that she knew was there, tried and tested, and used over and over again with her grandfather non the wiser. It hung around him like a cloud. It was funny, the way he had the ability to detect spells on other people, and even tell what they were, but he didn't know that there was one on him.

She added a little more power to the trust spell before she told him, “I've got a few free periods this morning, I thought I'd come back here and study.”

Anthony nodded. “I'm sure you do mean to study,” he told her. “But I assume not for school, or you'd do it there.”

She smiled, “You caught me.”

Anthony nodded and turned to head back into the shop. “Be careful you don't fall behind on your work,” he warned her. “But enjoy your free time. I've got some things to be doing today.”

As his hand pushed aside the curtain that separated the shop from the storeroom at the back, Sophie called out, “Wait, can I ask you a question?”

Her grandfather nodded, and walked through into the shop. Sophie followed him through and watched him sit down behind the counter. From one of the shelves underneath, he lifted his large, leather bound spellbook, filled with handwritten spells that he had devised himself. Sophie watched as he slowly turned the pages, looking for the spell he wanted. She had loved that book as a child, the feel of the cover, the smell of the old, yellowing pages.

“What did you want to know?” he asked.

She turned her attention away form the book, “Is there any reason why a spell wouldn't work?”

He frowned and looked up at her. “There are all kinds of reasons. What sort of spell is it?”

She hesitated, not wanting to give too much away. The spell on her grandfather had worked so far, but she didn't want to push it too far. “Just... an influence spell.”

“Oh?” He smiled knowingly. “And who is the lucky boy?”

Despite herself, Sophie felt her cheeks begin to heat up as she blushed. Her grandfather assumed it was a love spell. That was okay, it made for a realistic cover actually. She shook her head, and looked away coyly.

Her grandfather sighed and pushed aside his book. “It could have failed for all kinds of reasons, but Sophie, you have to be very careful with that kind of spell. You are playing with someone's free will, that kind of thing is very dangerous. Not to mention, just a step above what the council considers to be black magic.”

“I know,” she assured him. “But lets just say theoretically. If the... love spell didn't work, why might that be?”

“Did you do the preparation properly?”

She nodded. “I know it wasn't something I did wrong.”

“Well then,” Anthony took a long sip of his coffee and sat back in his chair staring at her thoughtfully. “It must be him. It is very difficult to break someone else's spell, but it can be done. Still, it's more likely that he rejected it before you were able to cast it. You know how to do a protection spell to shield yourself from evil spells. Maybe the object of your affections knows it too.”

“He doesn't.” she told him.

“Then there are two other explanations. Influence spells take away a little of a person's free will, that's why they are frowned upon. But if the person in question has exceptionally strong will, he might be able to reject the spell without even realizing it, simply by the power of his desire to be in control. Or alternatively, what the spell is asking him to do goes so far against his nature that his mind refuses to acknowledge it, and again if fails.” He smiled. “Sophie, are you sure that your gentleman friend is interested in ladies?”

Sophie stared at her grandfather in shock. “I didn't know people could do that.”

“It's rare, but it can happen.”

She shuck her head angrily and turned around. Stupid Edgar Frog with his stupid free will and his stupid prejudices against magic had managed to reject her spell, something no one had ever managed to do before. That just wasn't acceptable. She was going to have to do it again.

“Sophie?” said her grandfather as she stepped through into the back room to go upstairs and try again. “I don't want you doing influence spells anymore. They're too dangerous.”

Silently, she reached for the spell around her grandfather and placated him by feeding it more power, then she stalked up the stairs to her bedroom.


	14. Chapter 14

The hall outside the science labs smelled vaguely of something Sam had never managed to identify. Whatever it was, it was identical to the odor of science at his old school back in Phoenix and probably, he would be willing to bet, to every school in the country. Possibly even the world. It hung constantly in the air; a combination of the results of years of experiments by uninterested teenagers, and the regular release of gas from the Bunsen burners into the atmosphere.

Edgar was visibly agitated as he stood outside the lab with his hands in the pockets of his slightly worn pants. He glanced up and down, occasionally pacing the hall. His hands clenched and unclenched, fingers slipped in and out of his belt buckles and his pockets as he tried to decide what to do with his hands. He constantly kept one eye on Sam with an expression that silently asked why he wasn't behaving in the same way.

Sam leaned against the wall of the puke green painted hall, standing on one leg while the sole of his other foot pressed against the wall. He tapped his fingers against his leg and hummed a tune that had been stuck in his head since the night before.

“What the hell is she playing at?” Edgar asked suddenly. He shot an inquiring look in Sam's direction as though he believed he might have the answer.

Sam shrugged. “Maybe you've been stood up. She might never have intended meeting you. I don't know if you've noticed, but she really doesn't like you. I mean, she acts all nice, but I can tell.”

“Yeah, thanks Captain Observant. I know she hates me. The feeling's mutual.” Edgar shook his head. “No, she definitely wanted to talk to me. Did you hear what she said, that I wouldn't want to discuss it where people could hear? That was a threat. Meet her, or she'll try to ruin our credibility.”

“What credibility?” Sam smirked.

“Shut up. Unless...” Edgar's face took on a thoughtful expression, which quickly shifted into worry, and then panic. “Unless she wanted me to think that. She wanted me here so she knew I wouldn't be someplace else. She saw that we were leaving. What if she told me to meet her so I wouldn't go home? What if she's gone after Alan?”

“Gone after him for what?” Sam shook his head. “Sophie's pretty weird, but I think she kinda likes Alan, if you know what I mean? She's not going to hurt him.”

“Unless she just wants us to think that...” Edgar's chain of worried thought was broken by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. He whirled around and found himself staring directly at Sophie. He backed off a step in surprise, then quickly regained his composure. “You're late!” he told her.

She smiled apologetically. “Gym class,” she said, as though that was an explanation.

For a moment, Sam thought that Edgar was going to start a fight in the middle of school, but to his relief, his friend just shrugged. “Okay, whatever. Lets get this out of the way. What do you want?”

“Are you sure you want to discuss this in front of him?” She nodded in Sam's direction.

“Hey,” Sam said, hurt. “I was just standing up for you, you don't need to be so rude.”

Sophie turned to him with a frown. “Oh? I must have misheard when I thought you called me weird.”

Sam smiled nervously. “Well, weird's a complement. I mean, who'd want to be like everyone else? You're unique.”

Her expression softened and Sam relaxed slightly. He wasn't sure she'd bought it, but she at least didn't seem angry. He didn't really understand magic, but he had seen it in action, and if Alan could do what he had done on his first attempt, he didn't want to know what an angry girl with years of experience could do to a person if he made her mad.

“Sorry,” he added.

“ _I'm sorry_ ,” she told him, “I only meant that we need to talk about magic, and you're not one of us. I didn't think you'd be interested.”

If it was possible, Edgar's body language grew more defensive. He folded his arms and glared at her menacingly. “You'd better not be including me in that 'us'. You and I have nothing in common.”

And just like that, Edgar had ruined her good mood. Sam felt his heart sink as he watched the expression on her face turn to frustration, as though this wasn't how the conversation was supposed to go, and then to anger. Sam took a step forward and jabbed his elbow into Edgar's ribs as hard as he could, trying to make it look like an accident.

Edgar spun around and glared at him, and Sam wished that he knew how Edgar and Alan communicated without speaking. He had seen it in action time and again, but was no closer to cracking the code. He couldn't even see the code.

Sophie watched their less subtle silent conversation, then deliberately arranged her features into a puzzled expression. “Edgar, I thought your brother told you the truth about yourself.”

Edgar bristled like a cat confronted by a challenger to his territory. “What Alan and I talk about is none of your business. And just because you and the old man made him believe something doesn't make it true. Even if it is, I'm nothing like you and I never will be. Sam's on my team, he's my backup, anything you have to say, you can say in front of him.”

Sam watched and frustration flicker again across Sophie's face. Clearly, this wasn't the reaction she has been hoping for, though why she would expect anything else, Sam had no idea.

She shrugged dismissively, turned around and walked away down the corridor. Her body language seemed to say that the conversation was over. They watched her go, and the tension level in the area dropped by several degrees.

“I could wait someplace else,” Sam said. “I don't mind. You know, if you want to...”

Edgar shook his head. “Let's get out of here,” he said.

When Edgar didn't follow her, Sophie slowed and turned around. Irritated, she waved a hand, beckoning them in her direction.

“Or not,” Sam added. Edgar shrugged, and they did as they were asked.

* * *

Edgar silently fumed as he followed the witch girl along the hall. He didn't like her. He didn't like her superior attitude, or the way she proudly wore a magical symbol around her neck. He didn't like the way she talked down to Sam. Even the way the heels of her open toed sandals tapped on the tiled floor of the hall irritated him.

Sophie didn't turn around to see whether they were following her, she just assumed that they were dutifully walking behind her along the corridor like two pet dogs. He didn't like that much either. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at Sam, noticing the nervous expression on his face.

Sophie stepped out through the open doors of the school, into the sunshine, turned to the left, and strode across the grassy area at the back of the school, still without checking she was being followed. It would serve her right if they just left, Edgar thought. The only downside was that he wouldn't be able to see her face when she got wherever she was going and realized she was alone.

She kept walking, seemingly at random around the school until she selected a grassy area at the side of the football field. Edgar looked around and found that they were almost completely alone here. He approved of her choice; the fewer people that saw him speaking to her, the better. 

She sank down onto the ground, holding onto her short skirt as she did to ensure it stayed in place. She looked up at Edgar and Sam. “Sit down,” she told them.

Just like a dog owner training her puppies. Edgar nearly refused, but Sam had already dropped to the ground. He sighed and followed him, treating her to a glare that he hoped said he was sitting because _he_ wanted to.

If Sophie noticed the expression on his face, she gave no sign. She leaned back slightly, resting most of her weight on the palms of her hands, pointed her face up toward the sun, closed her eyes and smiled. “Isn't it a nice day?” she said. “Traveling around so much, we don't often live in places like this. It's so good to be warm.”

“Try it in the middle of August when you can't sleep for the heat,” Edgar told her. “Then tell me how great it is here. Now, what do you want? Because I'm guessing you didn't bring us here to talk about the weather.”

“No,” she told him. She tilted her face back down to earth and opened her eyes. “I wanted to talk to you about magic.”

Edgar looked at her levelly. There was nothing she could say about magic that he had the slightest interest in hearing, but he had agreed to meet her, so he might as well hear her out. “Get on with it then,” he said.

His keenly honed observation skills picked up a flicker in her calm facade. Another one. Something he was doing was seriously irritating her. He fought back the urge to smirk. He didn't know what it was, but it was good.

“Alright then,” she said. Her voice sounded tight, and suddenly something in her eyes looked cruel.

Edgar glanced at Sam, who frowned. He had noticed it too. Edgar quickly looked back to the girl.

“I really wish you'd let me make this easy on you,” she said.

Edgar sat very still, muscles all tensed, ready to run if he needed to, or ready to fight. Sam, he noticed, was still sitting in a relaxed way, watching the drama unfold in front of him with nervous interest.

“Don't know what you're talking about,” he told her.

“No, I know you don't,” she said. She sighed and looked him in the eye. “I want to tell you what happens to people who have talent, but don't use it.”

Sam frowned and looked at Edgar, Edgar deliberately didn't meet his gaze.

“Can you imagine what it's like to know that something is missing from your life, but not to know what it is?”

He kept his expression passive and made no comment. It wasn't like it was the kind of question he could answer. But she continued to look at him expectantly, waiting. In the end, he shrugged.

“That's what it's like,” she told him. “Denying the magic inside you is like denying a piece of yourself, it's dangerous. Even if you don't know it's there, the mind, or the soul does.”

Edgar crossed his arms and said nothing.

“People like that know something important is missing, but they don't know what. Their lives become an endless quest to find the missing piece, but unless someone comes along and tells them what it is, and helps them access it, they will drive themselves mad searching.”

She paused for effect.

“Get to the point,” Edgar told her.

Sophie pursed her lips and continued “It's like having a hole in your soul,” she said. “People often try to fill it with something else, but nothing but magic will do. Their whole personalities change, they become these empty things, wandering through life trying to fill the hole with something else, never managing because it's impossible. It's not a fate I would wish on anyone.

Edgar tightened his arms across his chest and looked at Sophie through narrowed eyes. “If this is about me telling Alan not to do magic, you're not going to convince me to change my mind. My brother is fine.”

She nodded. “I know. I'm not talking about Alan, I'm talking about you.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “I figured.”

“You need to listen to me, you have to...”

“No I don't,” Edgar interrupted. He got to his feet to leave. “We're both fine. Not as much as we were before you guys turned up, but neither of us is going to go crazy any time soon, so if that's all, I've got things to be doing.”

He turned away as Sam stood up to follow him, just catching the apologetic smile his friend shot in her direction. He gritted his teeth, he would have to have words with Sam later about undermining him like that.

“That's not all,” Sophie called after him.

Edgar shook his head. “Yeah, it is.”

He managed to get two steps away before she called out again. “Your parents both have talent.”

“Not interested,” he told her without turning around.

Sophie jumped to her feet and followed him quickly, overtaking and placing herself in front of him.

“Both of your parents could have been great practitioners,” she said.

Edgar turned in another direction, but she sidestepped ahead of him again. He glared at her, but this could go on all day. He stopped trying to escape and looked at her, waiting.

“It's unusual for two people with talent to come together without knowing what they have in common, but I suppose in a place like this, unusual things are more common.”

He could hardly argue with that. Santa Carla, murder capital of the world, a town populated by vampires, werewolves and witches. Town of freaks, some not even knowing what they were. Despite the warmth of the sun, he shivered.

“No one ever told them what they could do. Like so many others like them, they tried to fill the void with drugs. They started to fade away, didn't they? When was it? Five years ago? Ten? Do you even know when it started, or have they been on a gradual descent your whole life? That's your future, Edgar. But my grandfather can help you. If you'd just let him unlock the abilities inside you, you can avoid their fate.”

For a moment, Edgar was too stunned to speak. He looked at Sophie closely. Her apparently genuine concern was fake, he was sure of it, she was trying to get to him. He had no idea why, but she was succeeding. He knew that he should just turn and walk away again, but she had pushed his buttons. Common sense went out the window; she was hurting him, he wanted to hurt her back.

“Edgar...” said Sam. He looked at Sophie nervously, put a hand on Edgar's arm and tried to encourage him to leave.

Edgar shook him off and took a step forward, right into Sophie's personal space. She didn't back off.

“What do you know about my parents?” he asked her.

“More than you'd think. You can speak to them and they sometimes don't respond or even seem to notice you. You and your brother take care of everything around the house because they've stopped caring. You run their business for them. You cook their meals. You hate them, don't you? But you're going to end up just like them.”

Edgar shook his head from side to side. He felt tears prickling at the inside of his eyes, he turned away so that she wouldn't see, and so that Sam wouldn't. He fought them back and blinked angrily. When he had recovered, he turned to Sophie. He wanted to hurt her back, but he didn't know how. “I don't know where you're getting this crap from, but you're dead wrong. My parents are fine.” He heard the volume of his voice raising as he spoke, and did nothing to stop it. “Stay the fuck away from my family.”

Instead of upset or offended, Sophie looked concerned. He saw through it to the malice underneath. “When you see them, you're looking at your future. Unless you stop denying part of yourself. We can help you.”

* * *

Edgar spun on his heel and marched away so quickly he was practically running. He didn't look back, he didn't bother to check whether Sam was with him. Sam stood dumbfounded for a second, trying to process what he had just seen, then he backed away from Sophie slowly, before he turned and ran after Edgar.

He caught up to him half way down the street outside the school, heading in the direction of home. “Edgar,” he called, but he continued running. Sam reached out and grabbed his friend on the arm. Edgar stopped dead, and turned toward him.

Sam felt his mouth drop open in shock. Edgar's eyes were red with the angry tears that had slipped from his eyes and were running unchecked down his cheeks. Sam had never seen Edgar like this, he had never even thought that his vampire hunter friend was capable of that kind of emotion. He looked again. Edgar wasn't just sad or hurt, he was angry. Furious, even. Edgar may be the first one to rush into the monsters' lair yelling “Death to all vampires,” but despite that he always seemed so rational. The Edgar he was looking at now appeared anything but.

Edgar pushed Sam away. His hand was shaking.

“You didn't hear that,” Edgar told him. “You weren't there, you didn't hear any of it.”

Sam hesitated, then nodded. “I didn't,” he confirmed.

“Shit!” Edgar's hands clenched into fists and he looked away again. “Yes you did.”

Sam bit his lip thoughtfully. “Well, yeah I did, but Edgar, it wasn't exactly news to me. I've been to your house, I've seen how things are.”

“Things are fine,” Edgar told him. He brushed at his face with the fingers of both hands simultaneously, then looked back at Sam, more like himself again. He wiped wet fingers on his denim jacket and glared at Sam, daring him to say otherwise.

Sam nodded in agreement and looked around. It was still only part way through lunch break. The school grounds themselves were full of kids, the surrounding streets were less busy, but they were still earning strange looks from passers by. Sam looked at Edgar and knew why. He may have recovered slightly, but he was still a mess. He looked defeated in a way that no kid ever should.

“Come on,” Sam said. He put an arm around his shoulder and guided him in the direction of the boardwalk. He managed to maintain contact for a few steps before Edgar shook him off. A new record. The Frogs were a less tactile family than the Emersons. Sam tried to respect that, but sometimes he just needed to touch, it helped. He knew it would help Edgar, if he would let it.

But clearly he wouldn't. Sam accepted that and walked alongside him keeping a respectful distance.

“They... it's not as bad as she said,” Edgar said after a moment.

Sam nodded, “I know.”

“And if she thought she could spook me with that crap, she was dead wrong.” His eyes narrowed as he looked behind him at the school gate, no doubt imagining Sophie still inside there. His hands clenched into fists.

Sam swung a hand around and clasped Edgar on the shoulder. He realized what he was doing and moved it quickly, before Edgar was able to shrug it off again. “I know that too, man. C'mon, lets go warn Alan.”

Edgar frowned. “Warn Alan what? He already knows that girl's crazy, does he really need a detailed description of her most recent craziness?”

“Well,” said Sam, “maybe it was just me, but didn't she know way too much about you guys? She hasn't gotten all that just from talking to the kids at school.”

Edgar stopped dead and turned to look at Sam, confusion mingled with horror on his face. “What do you mean? You don't mean...” his eyes widened as he realized what Sam was implying. “It's her! She's been scrying on us with the spell. It's so obvious. She practically told us herself.” He slapped himself in the center of his forehead and looked at Sam in amazement. “Why would she give herself away like that?”

“Maybe she doesn't realize she did. Does she know we know about the spell?”

Rather than waste time talking, Edgar started to run in the direction of home, he glanced quickly over his shoulder after a second to make sure that Sam was following him. “We need to warn Alan,” he shouted.


	15. Chapter 15

The muscles in Sam's legs burned with the effort of running so far so fast. He wasn't the athletic type, he got his endorphins sitting on the couch watching MTV, feeding quarters into the video games at the arcade or losing himself in the monthly exploits of various comic book superheroes. Exercise was a necessary evil, but one he suffered through only once a week in gym class.

Edgar was different. He and Alan took fitness seriously. An unfit vampire hunter would soon end up a dead vampire hunter, they had told him. They trained daily; running, sit ups, push ups, hand to hand combat. Honing their bodies into killing machines. They had tried to get Sam involved once, he had made an excuse and gone home.

Maybe, when this was over, he would take them up on the offer. It might spare him the embarrassment of arriving red faced and gasping for breath the next time they needed to be somewhere fast and they didn't have their bikes. Not to mention, if Edgar and Alan kept dragging him into the insanity that was their lives, he might be thankful for the training one day.

Plus, muscles. That might come in handy if he ever got around to dating. Edgar already had the beginnings of a six pack. Sam was jealous.

Edgar reached the shop around ten paces ahead of Sam. The shutters were already open and a box of back issues outside to tempt in the customers. Sam frowned. The shop didn't normally open until Edgar and Alan got home from school.

Edgar turned to look at Sam, obviously having the same thought. Sam shrugged in response and slowed to walking speed as Edgar rushed inside. As soon as he was alone on the boardwalk, Sam doubled over and took several deep breaths, savoring the feeling of oxygen rushing to his starved muscles. When he had recovered a little, he stood up straight, wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, and rubbed it on his pant leg before dragging his fingers through his hair. He fished in his jacket pocket for the compact mirror he had borrowed from him mom a few months ago and forgotten to return, and checked that he looked more or less presentable. Satisfied, he sauntered into the shop.

Even before he entered, he could hear Edgar's voice inside. He wasn't exactly yelling, but he was speaking loudly, and he didn't sound happy.

“What are you doing in the shop? I told you to stay in your room.”

“I thought I might as well do something while I'm home, it's not like I'm sick.”

“Turn around, don't look at me!”

Sam sighed and abandoned his slow saunter for a couple of quick jogging steps. His legs ached fiercely in protest, anticipating another sprint. As soon as he was inside the store, he came to a complete stop and allowed them to recover again.

Alan was perched on the counter next to that cash register. His legs hung down the front of the desk, he had an open issue of Destroy All Vampires in his hands and a can of Pepsi next to him. As Sam entered, he put down his comic book, slid down from the desk and turned away from Edgar. “What are you guys doing here, anyway?” he asked

“What are _you_?” Edgar countered. “You knew the plan was to get Sam and come back here. We'd have been here sooner if something hadn't come up. You were supposed to stay home so you'd be safe in the house, not so you could sit here on your own in the shop waiting for God knows what to happen.”

Alan shook his head, “How am I safer at home alone than in school surrounded by a thousand people?” 

“How are you safer in the shop than in your room? Anyway, it's not just about keeping you safe, what if the warlock is scrying on you? We need to make sure she doesn't find anything else out. We agreed I'm in charge. If I tell you to stay in the house, you stay in the house.”

“She?” Alan turned around to look at Edgar curiously. Sam slipped surreptitious around behind him, stole the half full Pepsi can from the desk and took a long swig. He placed it back down silently, unnoticed by its previous owner.

Edgar nodded. “Sophie's the warlock.” He paused. “The witch, I mean. Warlock's just for men, isn't it?” he shook his head as though he could shake out the confusion. “Whatever. It's her.”

Alan smiled indulgently, but shook his head, dismissing Edgar's theory in one motion. “I know you don't like her, but come on Edgar. I already told you why it can't be her.”

“Yeah, yeah. Warlock killed her parents. Boo hoo. Doesn't mean she didn't grow up to be just like him. I'm telling you, it's her.”

“But...” Alan paused and looked from Edgar to Sam, noting the certainty on both their faces. He turned to Sam. “You agree? It's not just Edgar's paranoia?”

“He's the one that said it first!” Edgar said.

Sam nodded emphatically, and Alan frowned. Edgar's instruction not to look at him was apparently forgotten as Alan gave them both a long stare. Then he leaned back against the desk and turned to Sam. “Okay. What happened?”

Sam bit his lip. “Well, she kinda ambushed Edgar with this whole spiel about...” he paused and glanced at Edgar. His friend's composure was almost completely regained. It was as though the sprint home had had the opposite effect on him than Sam, but the incident had obviously shaken him badly.

Edgar and Alan didn't talk about their parents, Sam had always assumed that they didn't mind. Having them lost in a smoky haze most of the time gave the Frog brothers free reign to do pretty much whatever they liked. He had never really thought about the disadvantages. His mom was there when he needed her. Edgar and Alan's parents weren't. And if Sophie had been telling the truth, it was because of magic.

The idea that Edgar might end up exactly the same as them had to have frightened him too, because the things she said had terrified even Sam. Sophie had known exactly how to hurt Edgar, she had looked at his life for no more than a week, and somehow been able understand him better than Sam did after a year of friendship, and then she had used that understanding to hurt him more than Sam would have thought possible.

Sam took a breath and scratched at his eye to buy time to think. He wanted to be as diplomatic in his answer as he could, he didn't want to hurt Edgar again. “She knew things that she shouldn't,” he said eventually. “You know, almost like she'd been watching you guys really closely.”

“She probably has been,” Alan said.

“No, like _really_ closely. As though she's been in your house. Or, you know, looking through the eyes of someone who has.”

It wasn't working, Alan still didn't look convinced.

Edgar growled under his breath and nudged Sam with his elbow, pushing him out of the discussion. “She tried to threaten me into taking magic lessons from her freaky grandpa by telling me I'll end up like mom and dad if I don't.”

Alan's eyes drifted toward the back room, or possibly just back to the house area of the building, where Mr and Mrs Frog were probably still sleeping off the night before. 

“She says that's what happens when you could do magic but you don't, you slowly turn into a mindless zombie that only cares about getting high.”

Sam had been looking away as Edgar spoke. He forced his eyes to turn back to his friend, afraid of what he was going to see. Edgar looked... not okay, but not as bad as he had before. His arms were folded defensively, and his expression was a frown of obvious distaste. Sam glanced back to Alan. He looked like he was going to throw up.

“That's not exactly how she phrased it,” he said.

Edgar glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Doesn't matter, that's what she meant.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Alan lifted himself back onto the desk wearing a thoughtful expression. “Okay,” he said. “Worrying as that might be, it doesn't mean she's a murderer. She might have thought she was helping.”

He picked up his drink can, frowned at its lightness and shook it from side to side. Sam tried to look innocent.

“You didn't see her,” Edgar said. “She was determined to get me doing magic.” He glanced at Sam. “By the way, what I didn't say before is we were working on the assumption that the warlock was looking for something that would convince me to power up so...”

“So she could eat both of you,” Sam interrupted. “Yeah, that makes sense, actually.”

“It was Anthony's theory,” Edgar said. “So if Sophie's evil, we don't know if we can trust him.”

Alan waved a hand in the air, silencing them both. “Edgar, Sophie's not evil. She's... horrible, but she's been wanting you to learn magic from the start. I told you the other day, Anthony was against it, but she wanted you to help fight against the warlock.”

Edgar shrugged dismissively. “So she told you. Think about it, Alan. She wanted you to talk me into it, she thought if she could convince you, you'd convince me, I'd go running off to her granddad for a lesson, and then she'd kill both of us. When that didn't work, she used magic to spy on us looking for a way to talk me into it. She saw mom and dad, and...”

Alan stared hard at his brother, Edgar returned the look. Sam sighed and waited, sensing another of those patented Frog brothers non-verbal conversations they loved so much.

Finally, Alan shook his head. “If she said what she said to talk you into unlocking your talent, whatever the reason, she might have been lying.”

“I know,” Edgar said. “And she might not.”

For the second time in less than a minute, Sam detected a burst of Frog-comunication. He drained the last few drops from the drink can as he waited, then dropped it in the trash. “Hey, you guys know that's totally rude, right?” he asked.

Edgar stared at him in apparent confusion. “What is?”

“You know, that thing where you talk to each other without speaking, it's like telepathy or whatever. How would you like it if you came to my house and I kept talking to Michael in French or something?”

They glanced at one another for a third time, then both nodded almost imperceptibly, before simultaneously turning to Sam. “We don't do that.” Alan told him.

Sam frowned. “Okay, sure.”

“Can you and Michael speak French?” Edgar asked.

“Well, no. But that's not the point.”

Alan turned back to Edgar. “I think it's too soon to go charging into the magic store accusing anyone. We need more evidence.”

“We're not cops, we don't need evidence, it doesn't need to stand up in court. I'm telling you, it's her.”

Sam nodded in agreement.

Alan thought about it, then nodded. “Okay, we go to the store, speak to Anthony, maybe see if we can find anything else out. We don't go in there accusing anyone of anything, agreed?”

Edgar rolled his eyes. “Fine, but we don't go in unarmed. Grab all the comic books you can find that have stories about witchcraft, we'll see if there's anything we can use in there.”

* * *

Anthony had spent the morning measuring and preparing small amounts of herbs, and arranging them on his work tray, carefully placing them far enough apart that there was no danger of one contaminating another. It was a time consuming method of working, but it was the one he had always used when he needed to prepare an important spell. Even the slightest variation in the ingredients could transform an important spell into an exercise in futility. Subtle magic was like that, you either got it right or wrong, there was no middle ground.

He glanced up as the bell signaled the door opening, and smiled when he saw Sophie entering the shop. Her school bag was slung over one shoulder and she shrugged it off as the door closed behind her. “Decided to eat lunch with your old grandfather?” he asked. “Or another free period?”

She walked toward him, smiling in response to his question, but he could tell that something was wrong. She looked subdued, somehow. As though something was bothering her. She paused by his desk and looked at the tray with interest.

“Trouble with your gentleman friend?” he guessed.

“You could say that.” She leaned forward and carefully examined the ingredients. “Preparing a big spell?”

He nodded, “Quite an intricate one. Want to help with the preparation?”

She shrugged and he handed her a pestle and mortar.

“Grind the agrimony seeds until they're a fine powder. Do it slowly, in a clockwise direction and don't apply to much pressure. It's better that it takes longer than you infuse the spell with too much force.”

“I know how to do it,” she told him.

Anthony nodded, “Of course you know, but this is a very important spell. If you like, you can watch me perform it. We can make it your first lesson on the more subtle magics.”

Sophie smiled, a genuine smile this time, “I'd like that.”

They worked in silence for some time, pouring all of their concentration into the therapeutic task of preparation. Sophie bit her lip as she worked, Anthony noticed. Her mother had done exactly the same thing.

When the seeds were completely powdered, she placed the bowl on the desk. “What's the spell for?” she asked.

“It's a tracing spell,” he told her. “You remember I told you the boy, Alan, had some kind of spell on him? I believe our enemy is responsible, and this will allow me to trace the spell back to the source and find his location.”

Sophie froze completely still for a moment. “You can do that?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. It's not easy, even with my experience, but it's very possible.”

She smiled widely, but again, it didn't seem to reach her eyes. “How do you know the murderer is the one that cast the spell on him?”

“I don't, not for certain,” Anthony admitted. “But it's a reasonable assumption. Once we have a suspect, we'll can look at him more closely and make sure he's the right person before we do anything.”

Sophie slipped down from the wooden stool where she was sitting, walked around the desk and kissed Anthony on the cheek. “That's wonderful,” she told him. Then she pushed aside the black curtain that separated the shop from the back room, and stepped through. “I need to get back to school,” she said, “I'm just going to get a few things.”

Anthony listened to her footsteps as she ran up the stairs and into her room. Something had her worried, and something that worried Sophie worried him too. He knew she wasn't a little girl anymore, but she was still his responsibility. Curious, he got to his feet, moved the preparation tray under the counter out of sight, and followed her.

* * *

Alan watched his brother's agitated pacing from his position by the cash register. His route took him around the shop in an endless loop. As he passed the shelves, he glanced at the titles as though the answer he was looking for might leap out and ambush him. Occasionally, he shot an irritated glance at Alan and Sam.

Sam sitting next to him, reclining back in his chair as he flicked through the pages of an old Superman back issue. Alan knew for a fact that that particular comic contained nothing about magic or witchcraft. He suspected Sam knew it too.

Edgar took a deep breath and exhaled in a frustrated sigh. He turned to Alan. “We don't have anything. How can we not have a single comic book with a story about witches?”

“We've got lots of them,” Alan told him. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to have any basis in reality, and were therefore completely useless to them.

“Ones with real information in,” Edgar clarified. He glared at Sam, taking note of the cover of his comic, stalked over to him, and snatched it out of his unsuspecting hands. “Do _not_ pretend you think there's anything useful in here, Sam.”

Sam let him put the comic back on the shelf with a shrug.

“Okay,” Edgar said decisively. “We've got nothing at all, so Alan, we're relying on you. There must have been something in those books you read that we can use.”

Sam glanced at Alan. “Didn't we have this discussion already?”

“Shut up, Sam,” Edgar snapped. He sighed loudly. “Okay, yeah we did, but back then I didn't want to hear about magic.” He turned back to Alan. “Anything at all, Alan. Think.”

Alan stood up as he tried to remember the pages of the books. He had no idea. He could barely even remember how to do the spell he had tried. The other ones, he couldn't even remember what most of them were for. He folded his arms and leaned against the door to the living space at the back of the shop. “It might have been easier if you'd let me keep them,” he said.

Edgar rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well maybe I made a mistake. Just use your brain, assuming you've got one.”

Sam picked up the next comic book from the pile next to him and opened it at the first page, he turned to Edgar. “You do realize you're asking Alan to remember and then perform a magic spell, don't you?”

Edgar looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Yes, I do realize that. I'm desperate, okay? Between the stuff today and the risks of rushing in there unarmed...” he ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Shit. We know who we're after and I don't know what we can do about it. I'm actually thinking Alan should've taken the old man up on his offer to teach him.”

Alan frowned. That was the second time Edgar had admitted that he might have been wrong. Edgar didn't admit to mistakes. Even when he knew he was wrong, and everyone else knew it too, he would fight to the last breath to change their minds. It was part of his attempt to project an image of the ultimate soldier, totally informed on his enemy, their tactics and weaknesses. To admit a mistake meant that he wasn't infallible. For Edgar to do something like that, it meant he genuinely believed they were in trouble. 

Alan didn't know whether he was right about Sophie. He didn't like her much either, and hearing about what she had said to Edgar made him like her even less, but he suspected that whatever her reasons for saying those things; whether it was to be cruel or out of some misguided attempt to help Edgar, it wasn't for the reasons that Sam and Edgar believed. Of course, he hadn't been there. Maybe they had seen something that he didn't know about.

Whatever his reasons, and whether he was right or not, Edgar was their leader. He kept the team together, kept them focused. The last thing they needed right now was for him to have a crisis of confidence.

“Edgar, you didn't make a mistake,” Alan told him. “You were right about the spells, it would have been a bad idea to learn them.”

“It might have come in useful around now, though,” Sam added.

Alan gave him a glare and turned back to his brother. “I'm glad you stopped me.”

Edgar took a breath and nodded. “Nothing we can do about it either way now, is there? Alright, if anyone has any suggestions, please speak up. It doesn't always have to be me that comes up with the battle plan, you know.”

“We're not going to find anything in the comic books, I think what we need to do is just go straight to Anthony,” Alan said.

“Unarmed?” asked Edgar. He shook his head.

Alan shrugged. “He's on our side,” he said

Sam bit his lip, “Are we _sure_ he's on our side?”

“Pretty sure,” Alan told him. “He's tried to help us so far. Why would he do that if he's evil?”

“Yeah, as much as I hate to admit it, the old man looks like he's one of the good guys, but the girl definitely isn't, and in case you've forgotten, they both live in the same house. If we go there, we might run into her,” Edgar said. “I know we're going to have to go to him. We already decided that. But I want us to be prepared in case Sophie's laying in wait.”

“Then...” Sam looked from Alan to Edgar and back again, “maybe we should just go round there now and hope she stayed in school this afternoon so we can talk to him before she gets back.”

Edgar exhaled slowly through pursed lips with the sound of a deflating balloon. “Because evil murderers always do the right thing and stay in school.” He shrugged. “Okay. Something tells me we're going to regret this, but maybe it's our best shot.”

* * *

The stairs creaked under Anthony's heavy footsteps as he walked slowly, keeping to the edges to minimize the sound. Sophie's bedroom door was not fully closed, but she had pushed it until it was almost shut, preventing him from seeing inside from the hall. He crept closer, finding himself holding his breath as he reached out with one hand and pushed it a little further open. He was just making sure she was okay, he told himself. That was all, just checking on her. But he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

Spending your life never knowing when you were going to have to move on built the habit of packing light. They were far from nomadic, sometimes they stayed in one place for a year or more before they moved, but in order to feel safe they eventually always left, and sometimes at a day or two's notice. It meant that Sophie was used to packing light. As he pushed open the door, the first thought that entered his head was that after more than two weeks here, the room didn't look like any kind of a home.

Her neatly made bed pushed against the left wall, a small wardrobe against the right and a box that held her magical supplies were her only pieces of furniture. The wardrobe door was open and he could see that it was empty, she was still living out of the small suitcase that was pushed against the end of her bed. It looked like a hotel room, one that the guest only intended to use for one night.

Sophie was sitting cross legged on the floor with her back to the door, leaning over her homemade alter, a wooden board raised a small distance off the ground, adorned with candles and things she needed for her spells. He listened carefully to her words. She was muttering a chat to break a spell. On the tray in front of her, was a lit candle. As he watched, she held a bundle of sage leaves over the flame until it began to smolder, and then waved it through the air over the alter, letting the smoke cleanse the area.

Anthony cleared his throat. “Sophie, what are you doing?”

She gasped in surprise and dropped the burning leaves onto the alter. He took a step into the room as she turned to look at him and laughed nervously, “You made me jump,” she said.

“What are you doing?” he asked again.

“Just cleansing the air,” she told him. He watched her close her eyes for a moment, and then felt a wave of calm wash over him. He wondered, briefly, why he had decided to follow Sophie up to her room. To make sure she was okay, he supposed. He didn't remember, but it didn't matter.

Sophie got to her feet and brushed the creases out of her skirt. She smiled at him. She was such a good girl, always making time for her old grandfather, helping him with his spells, listening to his boring old stories.

“I need to get to school,” she told him.

Anthony nodded and smiled at her. “Yes, of course. You don't want to be late. I'll see you tonight.”

She brushed past him, and down the stairs. Anthony followed her down, and through into the shop. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, picked up her book bag and then walked out of the door.

Anthony took a deep breath, today was a good day, he felt happy, and relaxed, everything was right with the world. And tonight, he would trace the spell on Alan, locate their enemy, and finally be able to give Sophie a stable home.

With a smile, he returned to his seat behind the counter, retrieved his preparation tray from the shelf, and resumed his work.

* * *

Edgar went first. He was the leader of the team, after all. If anything went wrong, it was his duty to deal with it, or to sound the alarm allowing the others to escape if that was the only option. Tentatively, he pushed open the door to the magic shop and winced as it knocked against the bell that hung from the roof. He froze completely still as the sound rang out, and then peered around the edge of the door. The limited view of the inside of the shop that his position allowed him meant he couldn't be sure, but there appeared to be no one inside. Carefully, he squeezed through the narrow gap, taking care not to move the door and risk knocking the bell again.

Alan and Sam followed him, both equally carefully, but Edgar still found himself cringing as he watched them enter. He just didn't trust other people to be as good as him. Especially when they were untrained, like Sam.

Edgar and Alan moved with practiced stealth, their heavy boots making no sound on the floor as they instinctively each took a side of the room and checked it for any sign of danger. Sam hung back nervously by the door, not wanting to get in the way of their well rehearsed technique.

Alan shook his head as they reconvened by the door. “Empty,” he whispered.

Edgar nodded, “Here too. I don't like this, something's not right. Lets check the back room.”

On his back, Edgar had a bag filled with weapons. None of them would be of much use against a warlock, but it made him feel safer to have them. If it came down to a hand to hand fight, he decided he would rather have the wrong weapon than no weapon at all. Besides, a good, sharp stake could no doubt do as much damage to a human as a blunt knife. His fingers tightened on the piece of wood in his hand and he brandished it in front of him as he crept toward the back of the shop, beckoning for the others to follow.

He rounded the cash desk, still moving without making a sound, carefully avoiding the chair behind it, and not daring to look behind him and check on the others. If he lost concentration for even a second, the enemy could exploit that. He reached out with his left hand to push aside the black curtain that separated the two halves of the ground floor, still clutching the stake in his right. As his hand made contact with the curtain, someone on the other side did the same.

Edgar froze, his breath caught in his throat. Behind him, Alan sensed that something was wrong, and stilled Sam with a hand on his shoulder. Edgar backed off, but without thinking, hit the wooden chair behind the counter. It scraped noisily against the floor and hit the desk with a bump. Edgar turned to stare at in in horror. When he turned back to the curtain, he found himself looking straight into Anthony's face.

“Aaaagh!” he said, and backed off another step, waving the stake in front of him.

To his credit, the old man looked neither alarmed nor concerned. He stared at Edgar for a moment, bemused at this unexpected turn of events, before he reached out to take the stake from Edgar's hand. Edgar dropped the hand to his side before he could be disarmed. He looked at the old man. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

Behind him, Alan and Sam exchanged a glance.

“I might ask you boys the same thing,” he said. “After all, this is, my shop.”

“When you weren't in the front, we thought something had happened to you,” Sam explained.

Anthony frowned. He moved his chair back to its original position and sat down, placing the mug he had been carrying down on the desk. He reached underneath, and retrieved a large tray filled with tiny piles of herbs and things from the shop's shelves. Magical things. Edgar backed off a little, just in case.

“What could have happened to me?” Anthony asked.

Edgar placed his stake back in it's holster at his belt, and stared into the old man's eyes, completely ignoring the question. “Where's Sophie?” he asked.


	16. Chapter 16

Three serious faces stared across the table at Anthony. They all had the advantage of height, as the old man had calmly sat himself down before they began speaking, but somehow Edgar didn't get the impression that they were intimidating the old man as much as they should be.

Edgar stood at the front of the three, with Alan and Sam to each of his sides, only half a step further back. Anthony looked at each of them in turn, and then took a sip from the large coffee mug that he was cradling between the palms of his hands. “Surely you can see how silly this is. Sophie lost her own parents to this man, how could she possibly be responsible?”

Edgar shrugged in a way that said he didn't care about the details. The old man's calmness was irritating him. And no one called Edgar Frog 'silly' and got away with it. Silly was playing on the beach and giggling and games for kids. This was an accusation of murder. At the very least someone not believing him could call him ridiculous, or at best maybe outrageous. Silly was just... insulting. “Did you see the guy kill her parents?” he asked. “How do you know she didn't do it herself?”

Anthony shook his head. A tightness in his expression told Edgar that as calm as he might appear, he was getting to him. That was satisfying. Normally, he would try not to piss off the guy that could do magic, but he was past caring about anything at this point beyond bringing an end to the insanity that had invaded their lives.

“My granddaughter was six years old when her parents died. She was traumatized by it. And at the time, she couldn't access her magical abilities, just like you. That fact saved her life, and means that she can't possibly be guilty.”

Edgar grimaced internally at the mention of his own abilities, which as far as he was concerned were still completely theoretical. Outwardly, he kept his expression calm and unaffected. He refused to let these people get to him again.

“Well then, she saw what he could do and decided to learn it herself,” he suggested. “All I know is that she had info on my family that she couldn't possibly have had unless she was the one scrying on us.”

“But -” Anthony began, then broke off and looked at Alan in surprise. “The spell on you is gone,” he said.

Edgar glanced at Alan in relief, then frowned in confusion as his brother's expression morphed into worry. “What? That's a good thing. Means she's not scrying on us anymore.”

“It also means Anthony can't trace the spell.”

Edgar shrugged dismissively. “So what? We don't need to do that now we know who the warlock is.”

“But we don't _know_ anything. That would have proved it.”

“You weren't there, Alan. You didn't hear what she said. Believe me, it's her.”

“But we don't _know_.”

Anthony's expression changed almost imperceptibly, but Edgar had trained himself well in observation, and he noticed a hint of amusement in the old man's eyes. He glared at Alan, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and pulled him to the other side of the shop. “A word, Alan,” he muttered.

Sam watched, a little bemused at the display, then turned to Anthony, smiled nervously, and backed off a few steps.

Edgar forced Alan into the shelved area at the front of the store, hidden from view of the desk. A damned stupid layout for a shop. If someone decided to steal something from the shelves, they would probably escape without even being seen.

He released his grip on his brother's shirt and Alan backed away from him a few steps. Edgar advanced toward him. “What the hell?” he said in a whisper. “What happened to a united front? That's the way we play these things. We can't be arguing in front of the enemy.”

“He's not the enemy,” Alan said, speaking equally quietly.

“I don't care. We don't argue in front of friends, allies, enemies, customers or people on the street. That's not the way we do things. I know you're still not convinced, but I thought you understood the basic principles of convincing someone. What if when Sam had first come in the store, I'd tried to give him the vampire comics and you'd told him I was nuts? How do you think that would've turned out?”

Alan sighed and nodded.

“Good. So we'll get your proof sooner or later, but we need the old guy on side first. Okay?”

“Okay,” Alan whispered.

Edgar held out a hand, and his brother grasped it quickly. They let go. The Frog equivalent of a hug. Anything more than that was saved for the really really special occasions. Or when they thought they were going to die.

“So, follow my lead?” Edgar said.

Alan nodded.

Anthony looked up as they emerged from the shelves, and Sam moved back to his original position closer to the desk.

“Did Sophie know about the tracing spell?” Sam asked as they approached. “That'd be proof, wouldn't it? If she took it off so she wouldn't be caught.”

Edgar glanced at his friend approvingly. “I knew there was a reason we brought you along, Sammy.”

Sam smiled, and Edgar turned to his brother, checking his reaction. Alan, in turn, looked at Anthony, waiting for an answer to the question.

Anthony frowned in concern and if Edgar looked hard enough, he was sure that he could almost see the thoughts running through his head as he tried to decide how to answer the question. Before he even opened his mouth to reply, Edgar knew that the answer was yes. Whether or not that was the response he gave would tell Edgar whether the old man truly was their friend, or their enemy.

“Yes,” said the old practitioner finally. “She helped with the preparation.”

“Which brings us back to my original question,” Edgar said. His hand clenched into a fist and he leaned for ward in a way that he hoped was intimidating. It had always appeared that way when he practiced in front of the mirror. “Where is she now?”

Under any other circumstances, Edgar might feel sorry for Anthony. The old man had the look of someone whose entire world was collapsing around him. But Edgar stood unflinching, staring at him as he waited for his answer. Edgar knew the feeling well, and he had Anthony and his magic shop to thank for that. But either he was a very good actor, or he truly had no idea of what had been happening under his nose.

“It can't be Sophie,” Anthony said hesitantly. He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded to himself. “Before she left, she asked me how I know the murderer and the spell caster are the same person. What if they aren't? Sophie may be responsible for the scrying spell, and she removed it because she thought I'd find out and assume she was the murderer.”

Edgar caught Sam's attention and rolled his eyes. It was something he would normally do with Alan, but as his brother was slowly nodding as though he was being convinced, he didn't think there would be any point trying.

“I taught her some scrying spells recently,” Anthony added. “I told her to practice them. Maybe that was all she was doing.”

“Where is she?” Alan asked. He spoke gently, in stark contrast to Edgar's interrogatory tone.

Anthony looked at him for a moment, as though deciding whether to answer, “She went to school,” he said finally. “She went upstairs to get some -” he paused. “She was burning sage in her room,” he said suddenly, as though it was significant.

Alan's eyes widened in understanding, and he turned to Edgar. “That's when she did it,” he explained. “She was breaking the spell on me.”

Edgar gave his brother a sharp look but refrained from commenting on his magical knowledge. After all, not so long ago he had been encouraging him to remember it.

“How did I miss that?” Anthony wondered. “I saw her, I suspected what she was doing, and then she told me a lie and I believed it.”

Sam raised a hand as though giving an answer in class. “I'm going to go out on a limb here and say it might have something to do with magic.”

“I – I have to check her room,” Anthony said. His voice trembled slightly as the certainty of her innocence crumbled a little further. He got to his feet slowly, resting his weight on the hefty wooden desk as he did, then he turned and walked out of the room, pushing the separating curtain aside as he did. Walking through, his shoulder banged against the door frame. He staggered slightly, but didn't stop walking. A slightly dazed man on a mission.

Edgar, Alan and Sam watched him go. They waited in silence, glancing at one another, no one sure what they should do. The stairs creaked under the weight of Anthony's footsteps. Another few seconds of waiting, and then at the same time, all three ran around the desk, through the door, and charged after him.

Alan reached the top of the stairs first and headed toward the only open door. Edgar chased closely after him with Sam following just behind him. Edgar tried to overtake his brother and take the lead, he was the leader, after all; his place should be at the front of the charge. Alan ignored his efforts to overtake, and beat him to the open door. He came to a full stop, blocking the entrance to the room with his body, one hand placed on either side of the door frame, preventing Edgar from entering.

Edgar tried to contain his frustration as he peered over Alan's shoulder. The air in the room was thick with a strange odor, a mixture of recently extinguished candles and something Edgar couldn't identify. The herb Anthony said she had been burning, perhaps.

Her room was an almost identical copy of Alan's in its size and location within the house. The buildings down the boardwalk had apparently been built together and to similar design. But the similarities ended there. Alan's room, just like his own, had been stamped with his personality. The shelves were full of his things, boxes of comics, books, even a few old toys that he hadn't been able to bring himself to throw out. Sophie's room was empty of everything but the basics.

Anthony was crouching on the ground a the far side of the room, just to the left of the window that overlooked the boardwalk. His knees were resting on a large black cushion which had been placed in front of a raised piece of wood. It appeared to be a single shelf, half a foot or so off of the ground. It looked unimpressive, but from the objects placed on it it was obvious that it had some kind of magical significance. Edgar's eyes widened. Maybe not so basic after all.

It contained candles, small ornaments presumably representing something he didn't understand, and the strangest looking cup he had ever seen outside of a horror movie; made of silver or something that looked like silver, it was ornate, decorated with something he couldn't make out from that distance. He half expected that if he looked inside, it would be filled with blood. More than half, actually. Pushed to the side, next to one another, were two glass jars, half filled with dirty looking liquid, each with a melted candle fused to the lid.

“It's her altar,” Alan explained in a whisper.

Sam peered over his other shoulder to get a better look, while Edgar made an attempt to push Alan out of the way and gain access to the room.

Alan turned and blocked him. “Give him a minute,” he said.

For a long time, Anthony remained crouching very still on the ground, leaning forward toward the altar, carefully examining every item without touching them. Edgar tapped his foot impatiently, ignoring Alan's attempts to silence him, but the old man was too fixated on his task to notice.

“Hey,” Edgar called eventually. “I know she's your granddaughter and all, but can you hurry up and decide if she's evil so we can do something about it?”

He heard Alan sigh pointedly, and ignored him. Anthony slowly turned around to look at them, as though he had genuinely not realized until now that they were there. His expression was a mixture of confusion, hurt and betrayal. “I don't know,” he said.

That was a huge leap up from outright denial that it was possible. Edgar remained silent as he waited for more.

“There's nothing here to prove she had killed anyone. I really don't think she... but the spells she has cast here are...” He stopped, and massaged the skin of his face with the fingertips of one hand, shaking his head as he did. “The spells she has been casting here, they're not good ones. I don't understand it. How long has she been doing this?”

“Does it matter?” Edgar asked. He gave Alan's shoulder another shove, this time he relented and allowed him entry int the room. Sam followed, Alan hung back for a second longer before he, too crossed into the bedroom.

“I don't know,” Anthony said. “I suppose it doesn't, it's just...” he broke off, shaking his head in disbelief and tried to get to his feet. He struggled. There came a time in every man's life when sitting on the floor just wasn't an option anymore. Anthony had long since passed that point. Sam offered him an arm, and the old man gratefully accepted the assistance.

Edgar stepped around them and stared nervously at the magical altar in the corner of the girl's room. It was so blatant, it wasn't even hidden from view; anyone that walked in, that would be the first thing they saw. Her grandfather should have known. But then, he would expect her to have something like that. Hell, he probably bought it for her.

“So can I assume you're willing to believe us now?” Edgar asked

Anthony shook his head. “I can't believe she would kill anyone.”

Edgar grimaced in irritation and turned around to look at Alan. “What about you? Convinced?”

Alan's eyes flicked between his brother, the old man, and the altar where the spell on him had most likely been cast, and nodded.

“Alright,” Sam said. “We've got our bad guy. The question is, what do we do about her?”

Silence descended on the room as they looked at one another, hoping that someone would come up with a solution.

“I have to talk to her,” Anthony insisted. “One of the spells on the altar has been cast on me. It's an influence spell, that explains why I didn't remember seeing her break the spell on Alan. So I need someone else in the room when I speak to her, in case she tries to use it again.” He took a long, deep breath and looked Edgar in the eye. “I know you think her guilt is obvious, but you don't know her like I do. There's probably an explanation for everything, I just need to tell her what we know, and find out what it is.”

Edgar stared straight back at him thoughtfully, then shook his head. “If she's been messing with your head, we can't trust anything you do or say.” He turned away Anthony and back to Alan and Sam. “We can't kill her,” he said. “As much as I want to. It's not like staking a vampire.”

“We could go to the police.” Sam suggested. Edgar and Alan fixed him with an incredulous stare. He shrugged. “Or not.”

“We'd need proof,” Alan explained. “We don't have anything that would make them believe us. They'd laugh us out of the police station and then let her go. Actually, they wouldn't have to let her go, we don't even have enough for them to bring her in.”

Sam pointed at the altar. “What about that? Isn't that proof?”

“Yeah,” said Edgar. “It's proof that the girl from the magic store does magic. Big surprise. Much as I wish it was illegal, it's not. We can't prove what she was doing with it, and even if we could, no one would believe it.”

Anthony strode purposefully past Edgar and planted himself firmly between him and Alan. He shook his head. “We can't prove anything to the police, but I know what she has been doing; she has been casting some questionable spells, but nothing here suggests that she killed anyone.” He paused, and fixed Edgar with a hard stare. “Even if we did know it, we are certainly not going to kill my granddaughter.”

“Hey,” Edgar held up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm the one that said no killing, remember? But we do need another plan. Even if you still don't believe us, you know something's wrong, right?”

“Is there any way you could break the spell on you, Anthony?” Alan asked.

Anthony shook his head. “It's not active at the moment. I imagine she only uses it when she feels that she needs to. But only the one who cast a spell can break it. There is a way that we can weaken it, but Sophie is strong. Weakening it may not prevent it from being effective.”

“Try it anyway,” Edgar instructed.

Sam glanced at the altar again. “Edgar, if you're sure the cops are werewolves and ghouls, they must believe in magic,” he said. “If they don't, Anthony can prove it exists easily enough. I guess then we'd have to make sure they know it's Sophie that's the bad guy, not Anthony, but surely they'll realize that if he comes with us to report it...”

Edgar shook his head dismissively and paced the room once, quickly, eying the altar with distaste as he passed. He turned to Anthony. “How long do we have before she gets home?”

Anthony shrugged helplessly. “She went to school,” he said.

“She _said_ she went to school.” Edgar corrected. “She could be back any time now. We need to think fast. What do you normally do with witches that have gone bad? It must happen. Don't you have some kind of a system? Even vampires have a hierarchy, there must be some higher-ups you can go to with this.”

Anthony nodded. “There is. But even for the spells I've found, she would be put to death.”

“Well, maybe it's just because she put a spell on my brother and she wants to kill up both, but I don't have a problem with that,” Edgar told him.

Sam frowned. “You said you didn't want to kill her.”

“Me? No. But if the big boss warlocks want to, that's not a problem for me.”

Anthony took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No,” he said. “Absolutely not. She's my family. I can't hand her over to them.”

Edgar's eyes narrowed, “Well, luckily, none of us have that problem. Tell me where to find them and I'll drag her there myself.”

The practitioner's expression suddenly grew grave, he shook his head. “I can't tell you that. Not only for Sophie's sake, for your own as well. I accept that you want nothing to do with magic. I don't understand it, but I accept it. There are others whose radar you do not want to be on.”

Edgar stared at the old man for a full thirty seconds as his mind raced through the implications behind his words. He had said nothing specific, it may just be hints at something untrue designed to change his mind, but he couldn't take the risk. He simply couldn't let magic any further into his life than he already had. Even if Sophie had been telling the truth; even if to deny it meant...

“But what else can we do?” Alan asked, interrupting his chain of thought.

Anthony took a breath to answer, but Edgar pulled himself back into the present just in time to cut him off before he could reply and answer for him. 

“Nothing,” he said. “There's nothing else we can do. Anthony has to go to the boss warlocks. It's that, or keep her prisoner here forever.” He turned to the old man and shook his head, “And there's no way I'm letting you do that. I refuse to live in the same street as an insane murderer who'll probably escape and start looking for revenge. And by the way, gramps, I bet you'd be the first one she'd go after.”

Anthony walked to the window overlooking the boardwalk, and looked outside. He took a deep breath and released it as a long, sad sigh. “There is one other thing I can do. I need to prepare some things.”

“What kind of things?” Edgar asked suspiciously.

“Things for a spell.” Anthony said. “It will take about two hours to prepare. In the meantime, I have a task you will enjoy. I need you to dismantle the spells Sophie has set up. Just take everything apart. That will weaken the spells, hopefully enough to prevent her using them.”

Sam frowned and exchanged glances with both of the brothers. “Do we have two hours? I mean, even if she has gone to school, which I doubt, she'll be back before then. And if she's gone somewhere else she could be home any second. What are we going to say when she gets in? 'Hi Sophie, don't mind us, we're just laying in wait while your grandpa makes a spell to...' what _is_ the spell going to do anyway?”

“It will be quicker if someone helps me,” Anthony said. He looked at Alan, who immediately broke eye contact and became instantly fascinated by the paintwork on the bedroom wall.

As soon as he noticed what was happening, Edgar stepped forward. He didn't place himself directly in front of his brother, but moved far enough into Anthony's line of vision to make his presence more conspicuous. He folded his arms.

“Just a bit of weighing and measuring,” Anthony added. “No magic involved.”

Before anyone could come to a decision, he turned and left the room. In the silence that had descended, his footsteps sounded loudly on the stairs.

Alan cleared his throat. “I guess, if it'll speed things up...”

Edgar turned to look at him. “You're going to do it no matter what I say, aren't you?”

“No, but I think...”

Edgar took a deep breath and exhaled in a loud sigh. He raised one hand in one of their hunting signals. It meant be quiet, and Alan responded instinctively to the well practiced command. “Fine. Go. But be careful.”

Alan nodded a promise that he would, and then followed the old man out of the room. 

“Find out what he's planning,” Edgar called after him. Alan waved a hand in the air without turning around, and Edgar listened to the sound of his boots running down the stairs. He slumped against the wall, “I don't trust that guy. Why won't he just believe us?”

“Well, we're telling him his granddaughter's a murderer,” Sam said. “Did you think he'd just accept that?”

Edgar stared at the magical altar with its strange equipment. “I really hate magic,” he muttered.

Sam shrugged and looked at the altar too. He smiled. “Well, now you get to smash some up.”


	17. Chapter 17

The uncomfortable tickling, squirming sensation of nervousness assaulted Alan as he descended the stairs, leaving Edgar and Sam behind in the bedroom. Butterflies in his stomach, his mom had used to call it. He tried to control it, but these butterflies were rabid, and very angry.

As his foot hit the bottom step, he paused and took a deep breath. Anthony had already disappeared into the front of the shop. Just like their own place, the back room was darker than the front, and cooler. The sun shone relentlessly for most of the day onto the front of the property, hitting the back for only a few hours. It was a relief after the warmth and the choking smell of burning herbs in Sophie's bedroom.

Sometimes, Alan wished he could see what was going on in Edgar's head. Really see, not just having the understanding between the two of them that Sam interpreted as telepathy, but actually be able to get inside his brother's head and take a look around, because sometimes, and it wasn't very often, but sometimes, Edgar managed to really surprise him.

Like just now, for example. Alan hadn't wanted to spend the afternoon as a magician's assistant. He agreed to do it because someone needed to, but he hadn't expected Edgar to go along with it so easily. Edgar was supposed to protest, and refuse, and rant about how magic was evil, and how it would corrupt him if he was in the same room as it.

Either Edgar was so worried about stopping Sophie that he was willing to risk Alan getting too close to a spell, or being forced to learn about his own heritage and latent abilities had mellowed him a little.

Alan felt one corner of his lips twitch involuntarily at the idea of Edgar mellowing for anything. More likely he was just hoping Alan would be able to continue convincing Anthony of Sophie's guilt, or, as he had told him to do as he left, find out Anthony's plan. The old man had seemed oddly evasive of their questions. Worryingly so, actually.

Alan allowed himself another few seconds to prepare himself, and then he pushed aside the heavy black curtain and walked through into the shop.

He found Anthony at the other side of the room, locking the door. Hearing his approach, the practitioner turned around to look at him. He nodded in greeting. “It's not exactly a busy time of day, but I don't want any interruptions,” he explained as he turned the key. “I'm glad you decided to help.”

Alan folded his arms and leaned against the wall. He wondered whether Anthony could tell how nervous he was. Just in case, he tilted his chin upward slightly and stared down at the old man through hooded eyes.

Anthony smiled politely at his display. He left the key in the lock again, both providing Alan with a means of escape if he needed it, and meaning that Sophie wouldn't be able to get in. If she arrived at the front door, she would have to knock or go around the back, either way, probably giving them forewarning of her arrival. Unless she just went straight to the back. Unfortunately, the door being locked would also tip Sophie off that something was wrong. Alan wondered whether Anthony had thought of that.

But then, Anthony probably wasn't worried about that. He was still mostly convinced that his granddaughter was innocent. Well, not innocent. A caster of black magic spells to mess with people's heads? Sure. But a murderer? No way.

He wondered who the other spell had been used on, and what it was designed to do.

Anthony made his way back through the shop to the cash desk, and Alan watched silently as he bent down and retrieved a large wooden tray from a hidden shelf underneath the counter. He lifted it slowly, taking care not to tilt it and risk displacing any of the small piles of ground and chopped herbs. He placed it down gently on the surface of the desk.

It looked like something from a cooking show. Alan smirked as he imagined the old man beaming into the camera while he demonstrated to his viewers how to perform a spell. _'Chop up all your herbs and put them aside. Here's one I prepared earlier.'_ Edgar's worst nightmare. Or one of them, at least.

“I was part way through the preparation for the tracing spell,” Anthony explained. He turned around to look at Alan, who was still leaning against the wall behind him, as he spoke.

Alan quickly wiped all hints of amusement from his face and replaced it with his trademark sneer.

Using the fingers of one hand, Anthony began to carefully brush some of the piled herbs from the tray and into the palm of the other. When his hand was full, he tipped the multicolored pile unceremoniously into a small trash can next to the counter, and brushed his hands together to remove any residual dust. “The new one needs some of the same ingredients, the rest can be thrown out.”

An explanation of his actions hardly seemed necessary, but Alan nodded anyway.

“Now then,” Anthony said, taking a deep breath and lowering himself into the chair behind the counter. “I'm afraid I wasn't completely honest with you a moment ago.”

His tone was conversational and non-threatening, but the words themselves chilled Alan to the bone. His body froze completely still as his mind tried to decide which of his two natural instincts he should follow; fight or flight. 

Moving nothing but his eyes, he glanced around the shop, calculating the best way to escape. The front door still had the key in the lock, he could get out that way, but he needed to warn Edgar and Sam. He tried to remember the layout of the back room, where he had been just a few minutes earlier. The door was closed and he didn't know if it was locked, but going that way would give him the opportunity to shout upstairs. Or if he ran out through the front, he may be able to shout up to Edgar through the window. But that would mean his brother and Sam would be trapped in the building...

“Alan, it's okay, I think you misunderstand me.”

Anthony's voice cut through his planning just as he was about to bolt.

“You're in no danger from me. It's just that when I said you didn't need to do any magic, I'm afraid that that wasn't exactly the truth.”

That wasn't better. The alarm bells in Alan's head grew a little quieter, but were not silenced. He remained very still, watching the old man carefully, still ready to run if he needed to. “What?” he said.

“It's a simple spell, but I need you to be the one to do it.”

Alan tightened his arms across his chest in a subconscious defensive gesture, as though they could create a barrier between himself and the old man, or the things he was saying.

“No.”

Anthony nodded. “I know you're afraid of magic, but if you'll just listen to what I have to say, then you...”

“I'm not afraid,” Alan interrupted. “Just... No.”

He shook his head. He turned and his eyes flicked to the curtain leading to the back room, to the stairs. Edgar was up there, trusting him.

Anthony noticed the subconscious flicker and nodded.

“Okay, not afraid, but apprehensive at least. And I know how your brother feels about it too, but I need you to at least prepare the spell. If things go according to plan, you may not have to use it. If you do have to, this one small spell will be vitally important.”

Alan made a conscious effort to relax his muscles slightly. He allowed his arms to drop to his sides, where they hung nervously. He resisted the almost overwhelming urge to fold them again, and walked slowly around to the other side of the counter. He slouched into a chair, and tried not to look as terrified as he felt.

Suddenly, he felt hyper-aware of everything that was happening in his body. The position of his hands as he moved them from by his sides to resting on the desk, to the chair. He could feel the increase in his heart rate and breathing to the extent that he was sure Anthony could see it. He was sweating, and he could feel the greasy moisture on his brow. The temperature in the shop suddenly seemed much too high.

He knew how this conversation was going to end.

He could hear the truth in Anthony's words. He did need to do this, and he knew that he was going to agree. In his head, he could hear his brother begging him to say no, ordering him to turn and run before it was too late. He couldn't. It had been too late the moment he had opened that spell book. Everything from that moment on had led him to this point. He had caused this mess. Yes, Sophie would probably still have murdered those people, and yes she might even have come after him, but by experimenting with magic, by dragging Edgar and Sam into it, he had become responsible for them, and if now he had a chance to fix it all, even if it involved doing magic, he had to do it.

The only question remaining was should he argue for appearance sake, and waste valuable time fighting a battle he had already decided to lose, or should he simply agree and hope that if he ever did tell Edgar about this, his brother would pretend he didn't notice that he was lying when he claimed that he had?

* * *

Edgar folded his arms around his body, squeezed his hands into fists and held his breath to ensure minimum contamination as he got close to the alter. He peered at it closely, then backed away to the other side of the room before he took a breath. “What do you think we should do?” he asked.

“Dismantle it,” Sam told him. “Like the guy said.”

“But how?”

Sam shrugged and shook his head. “I don't know. Just...” He reached out hesitantly and picked up one of the glass jars, in a previous life, it had probably contained strawberry jelly, but now it was home to some murky looking water with... things... floating in it. The top of the jar was covered in wax, the leftover parts of a candle that had been left to burn unattended for too long.

Edgar watched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Sam smiled nervously. “You don't think it's going to explode, do you?” He took a breath and unscrewed the lid. Water slopped onto his hand. He froze and looked at Edgar with an expression of horror.

“Shit. Okay, bathroom, now.” Edgar told him. “Lets get that hand cleaned, and pour the rest of that crap away.”

Holding his wet hand, still clutching the jar tightly, out ahead of him, Sam walked out of the room as quickly as he could without risking spilling more. Edgar hesitated before he picked up the second jar and carried it with him as he followed Sam.

* * *

“Do you remember the first spell you performed?” Anthony asked. “The flower petals?”

Alan nodded. He was still slouching in the chair feigning nonchalance. The fingers of his left hand apparently hadn't gotten that message; they drummed on the side of the chair, ignoring his attempts to make them stop.

“The only one I did,” he corrected. 

Anthony nodded. “The only one you were aware of, yes. I need you to think back to it, remember the connection you made between your own mind and the flower whose petals you changed. Do you remember how it felt?”

A sense of unreality had descended the moment Alan had agreed to this. It felt like a fog had collected around his mind, blocking him off from what was happening around him. Anthony's words took a moment longer than normal to penetrate. When they did, he frowned.

“What do you mean the only one I'm aware of?”

Anthony leaned forward as he replied. “Sometimes, people unaware that they have talent will use it without realizing,” he said. “I don't know that you have, but it is very possible. Learning how to control your gifts would prevent that. But think of the one you performed deliberately.”

Alan chewed on his bottom lip as he thought back to that night in Sam's bedroom. After everything that had happened, it seemed like a lifetime ago now, but in fact it was little more than a week since he had thought that playing around with magic might be fun. It was hard to believe now that he had ever been so stupid. He gritted his teeth. “Yes, I remember.”

“Good. The connection you made there was directly to the thing you were affecting. This is slightly different. If we had time, I'd explain about the different kinds of spells, let you try them out and get a feel for them before we moved on to something like this, but as it is we're just going to have to skip to the advanced class and go back to the other things later.”

The fingers of his hand increased the speed of their tapping. “I'm not your student. I'm not going to be coming back for classes. Just tell me what to do and get this over with.”

Anthony nodded. “Of course. What you're doing is preparing a potion. Unlike with the flower petals, the thing you want to affect – Sophie – isn't here at the moment, rather than connecting straight to her, you need to focus all your attention on the potion that you are making.”

“Potion.” Alan echoed. He shook his head in disbelief at what they were doing and hoped fervently that Edgar would take his time with destroying the spells and not appear at the door just in time to see him stirring the big metal pot.

Almost as though he had read his thoughts, Anthony smiled at his reaction. “Now, don't worry, we're not going to use a cauldron and throw in some eye of newt. Those kind of things do have their place in the practice, but this is something much more simple. What you're making is really just a kind of tea.”

Alan forced his fingers to sit still. As soon as he made them follow his commands, he felt his left foot begin to tap on the floor. He scowled and ignored it.

“The only difference from any other tea, is that it is made from bindweed. And that you're going to push a little magic into it as you brew it.”

“I don't understand why you need me to do this,” Alan said. “You're spending all this time telling me about it, so it's not going to make this go any faster.”

Anthony reached to the shelf behind the counter and pulled a handful of some kind of dried plant from a jar. He placed it on the desk in front of Alan. “Because you will be the one performing this spell. Someone else can help with certain kinds of preparation, but when it comes to the actual creation of a potion spell, the one who makes it is the only one who can control its effect.”

“But why do I need to be the one who performs the spell?” he asked. If it really needed to be done, he was willing to do it. No matter how distasteful he found the idea, if it was the only option he would do as he was asked. But if Anthony was using this as an excuse to make him do more magic just because he could, that was unacceptable.

Anthony looked pointedly at his wristwatch, then back to Alan. As he spoke, he picked up a pestle and mortar and began grinding whatever it contained to powder. He sounded tired, and old. Alan wondered how old the man actually was. Old enough that he should be worrying about getting to his bridge game or whatever it was old people did with their time, not having to deal with the idea that his granddaughter was a murderer and having to stop her. Alan couldn't help but feel sorry for him.

“The only reason I'm going along with this is that when I looked at Sophie's alter, I learned that my granddaughter has been using magic to influence the way I think. She has been altering my memories and making me trust her. It's a dangerous and illegal spell, and I don't know why she would take that risk unless there was something worse that she needed to cover up.”

“So you _do_ think it's her?” Alan asked.

Anthony shook his head. “It's...possible. But I find it hard to believe. Before I do anything, I need to be certain. I need to talk to her. Your brother is destroying the physical part of the spells at the moment, that will weaken them, but not destroy them. Depending on how much power Sophie has, she may still be able to control me.”

He paused and handed the pestle and mortar across the table to Alan, reached for his scales and began to measure the next ingredient. As he thought through the implications of what he had been told, Alan continued to grind whatever was in the bowl into a finer powder. “But you're the only one who can stop her. If she can control you...”

“If that happens,” Anthony continued, “I need you to stop her. The bindweed tea will restrict her her magic, breaking her hold on me. It would be better if you could get her to drink it, but splashing it on her skin will do the trick.”

Alan set down the bowl and picked up a piece of the dried plant from the desk. It was a long stalk, that had been green once, but had faded as it dried to something closer to brown. Shriveled leaves were still attached. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, and rotated it slowly. It didn't look look like anything special. “This will stop her magic?” he asked.

“Temporally, yes. Long enough for me to do what I need to do.”

“Then...” he paused, a spark of hope that things may be able to go back to how they were before began to burn in his chest and the butterflies started to flap their wings again. “Could it do the same thing for me?”

Anthony shook his head. “It doesn't work like that.”

Alan squashed down his disappointment and allowed the stalk to fall from between his fingers and drop onto the desk in front of him. “Yeah, I thought that would be too easy.” He sighed. “So if she is the murderer, what is your spell going to do?”

Anthony looked uncomfortable for a moment. He shook his head. “I'll explain that later. It's more important that we work quickly.” He slid a sharp knife across the table toward Alan. “Chop the bindweed into small pieces, as small as you can,” he said. “Then I'll tell you how to mix in a little magic.”

As he picked up the knife and began to slowly cut the dried plant, Alan watched the old man out of the corner of his eye. Whatever he was doing, it was much more complicated than the task he had set for Alan.


	18. Chapter 18

Alan watched curiously out of the corner of his eye as Anthony worked in silence, concentrating hard on ensuring the exact quantities of his various ingredients. Outwardly, all of Alan's concentration was channeled into the slow, methodical chopping of the single ingredient to his spell, but inwardly his mind raced.

His spell.

He still couldn't quite believe that he was doing it. But then, he had done it before. It wasn't like the idea was entirely new to him.

Edgar was going to flip if he found out.

Or maybe he would understand. After all, they really didn't have a lot of choice.

Yeah, right.

They were working to a deadline, with no idea of when it would be. Sophie could return at any moment, yet he forced his hand to cut slowly, in no hurry to move on to the next stage of the preparation. At this point, all he was doing was cutting a plant. Next came using it in a spell.

His spell.

And so his mind twirled in an endless spiral as he projected the tension within himself into the room.

Anthony's brow creased in concentration as he worked with well practiced speed, quickly building up a row of readied herbs and plants, each one weighed and prepared for whatever he intended to use them for. Alan didn't like that he didn't know the plan. It made him uneasy.

From the back room, the loud, unexpected squeak of shoes on tiled floor ripped through the thick layer of silence that had filled the room, and Alan froze, his knife still in his hand. His breath stilled instinctively as he listened.

His eyes drifted to Anthony, but if the old man had heard anything he gave no sign. Nor did he acknowledge Alan's reaction to it. He continued his work, apparently oblivious to the fact that anything was wrong.

Alan repositioned the knife in his hand for use as a weapon rather than a tool as he allowed his eyes to slowly turn toward the curtain that separated the shop from the back room. There had been no more sound, the curtain didn't so much as move in the slight breeze from the open window, but Alan knew there was someone there. Every carefully honed instinct told him that on the other side of the curtain, someone was standing very still, probably holding their breath in the exact same way that he was, and cursing their mistake that made the sound.

Anthony finally noticed that something was happening when his temporary student rose soundlessly to his feet and began to step carefully around the desk. “What is it?” he asked, quietly.

Alan shook his head once from left to right and pressed a finger over his own lips to indicate silence. Anthony frowned in concern and turned around just in time to see the curtain twitch.

On seeing that, the old man began to stand. Weary joints prevented quick movements, and Alan was sure that he could actually hear his knees creak as he rose. Before he could complete the movement, the curtain was pushed aside. Alan tightened his grip on the knife. The ingredients of his half finished spell lay scattered on the desk in front of him, useless, Anthony was also not finished. They had run out of time.

The curtain moved again, this time grabbed and pulled aside by the person on the other side, knowing that they had been detected. Alan's muscles tensed as he prepared to attack. Someone walked through.

It was Edgar.

His brother looked at him with a well practiced expression of scorn, the one he usually reserved for clueless tourists that refused to believe in vampires, the one that said the recipient was an idiot. He barely glanced at the knife in his hand. “Relax, it's just me,” he told him.

Alan exhaled the tension in his muscles as relief washed over him. They weren't being ambushed. Not yet, at least. He allowed the hand holding the small knife to drop back to his side.

“You could've said something sooner, you nearly just got stabbed.”

Edgar strode further into the room. He shook his head. “I don't think so. No offense Alan, but you're no match for me. You're barely a match for Sam.”

“Hey!” said Sam's disembodied voice. The other boy followed Edgar through into the shop. “ _I_ take offense at that. If anyone cares.”

Edgar ignored him and walked around the desk covered with the magical ingredients, doing his best not to actually look at it as he did. Alan followed him with his eyes.

“How long have you been there?” he asked.

Sam's eyes went wide, like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't, and he looked at Edgar for a reply.

“Not long.” Edgar finished his slow trek around the desk, and ended it leaning against the end of a bookshelf. He looked at Alan thoughtfully, his eyes drifting back to the desk every few seconds, before he realized and corrected himself.

Sam apparently didn't share Edgar's aversion to looking at the spell ingredients. From the other side of the desk, still standing by the curtain, he stared down at desk with undisguised fascination.

Edgar folded his arms, continuing to watch Alan as he stared back at him, hoping that his brother hadn't heard any of his earlier conversation with Anthony. Depending on how long he and Sam had been in the back room, they could have overheard what Anthony intended Alan to do.

Suddenly, his mouth felt very dry and the temperature in the room appeared to raise a few degrees. He turned away from Edgar and continued to chop the bindweed. After all, if he had nothing to hide, no reason to be ashamed, that was exactly what he would do. Or, he thought it was. He stopped and looked at Edgar again.

“Did you destroy the spells?” he asked.

Edgar nodded. “Took them to pieces, then we destroyed the pieces.” He turned to Anthony. “That destroyed enough for you?”

Anthony looked up briefly from his work and nodded. “It will do, for now.”

Sam stepped forward, positioning himself right next to the desk, looking down at the assembled tools and ingredients. He turned to Anthony. “Is there anything else we can be doing? If Alan's busy doing his own thing, I could help with your spell.”

Alan froze. The knife in his hand stopped cutting just as it hit the desk. He might have been reading too much into it, but to Alan's ears, Sam's throwaway question said that he knew Alan wasn't helping Anthony prepare ingredients. They had heard what was happening.

With considerable effort, he made his hand continue cutting, staring down at the desk in front of him as he did. Behind him, he imagined he could feel Edgar's eyes drilling into the back of his skull. The dried plant was well and truly massacred by now, but he continued, chopping it into smaller and smaller fragments, not even sure whether most of his knife strokes were actually hitting the plant or just cutting grooves in the wooden tabletop.

“How's this going?”

Suddenly, Edgar was standing next to him, looking down at the remains of the plant. He waved a hand in the direction of the desk to clarify what he meant. 

Alan swallowed before he answered. The dryness in his mouth hadn't gone away. It was ridiculous that Edgar's questions could provoke that kind of a reaction in him. He wasn't afraid of what his brother might do, but of what he would think. He licked his lips and nodded.

“Fine.”

“You're just weighing and measuring, right?”

Form the other side of the desk, Sam watched Edgar curiously. Alan stilled his hand. Finally, he turned to look at Edgar, searching his face for a sign that he believed that. There was none, because he didn't. And Edgar knew that Alan would know that.

“And chopping,” he said. He put the knife down on the table. “That's all.” He was lying through his teeth, to Edgar who always knew when he was lying. And Edgar was pretending not to realize.

The whole situation felt very strange. Alan glanced back to Sam, who had lost his puzzled expression and replaced it with a smile, he had worked out what was going on a few seconds before Alan.

“Good.” Edgar said. “We didn't hear anything when we were back there. Did we, Sam?”

Sam's eyes flicked from the desk, to Alan, and then to Edgar, looking for confirmation that he had understood and this was how they were going to play it. Edgar stared him in the eye and nodded. Alan watched their silent conversation with fascination. His own wordless conversations with Edgar were conducted more subtly, but it was still strange to be on the outside, even if he could read what was being said.

“Nope,” Sam assured him eventually. “Nothing.”

Alan struggled not to roll his eyes. Sam was a worse actor than Edgar. They weren't even trying to convince him that they believed what they were saying. This was all about Edgar's pride. No matter how much Alan might insist otherwise in the future, his brother would continue to claim no knowledge of anything magical.

“Right,” said Edgar. His arms were folded again, and Alan noticed that his fingers of one hand drummed continuously on his arm as he tried to look everywhere but at the table. “So, Sam and I are going to go back upstairs. We don't want to be in the way. Um...” He stepped back around the table and began to push the curtain aside to walk through, then he turned back to look at Alan. “Good luck,” he said. His gaze slipped down to the table just once. “Be _very_ careful. I mean it, Alan. Proceed with extreme caution.”

“Yeah, those old scales look pretty dangerous,” Sam added with a grin, then he backed out of the room, pulling a reluctant looking Edgar with him by the arm.

Edgar stood his ground against Sam, and reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a bright green water pistol; one of the ones they filled with holy water when fighting vampires. It was empty. He slid it across the desk toward Alan with two fingers.

“Just in case you need to, you know, squirt anyone with anything. Might come in handy.” He glanced down at the unfinished potion again and then fled to the other side of the curtain.

Alan heard the sound of two sets of footsteps climbing the stairs.

He swallowed again, his mouth felt desert dry. He looked at Anthony, who was still working as though nothing had happened. “He heard everything,” he said. His voice came out as a whisper.

Anthony said nothing, he just sat on the other side of the desk and watched as Alan picked up the water pistol and realized that he had his brother's permission to proceed.

Alan cleared his throat. “Okay, what do I do next?”

* * *

Not too long ago, during that strange few days just after the opening of the magic store, Anthony had told him that magic was about connections between all of the matter in the universe. It would have sounded like New Age nonsense, the kind of thing his parents might mutter about as they drifted in and out of consciousness, if it wasn't for the fact that by that time Alan had already performed his first spell.

He had denied it to Anthony, but he knew that he had felt something linking him to the flower whose petals he had changed from yellow to red.

It wasn't something that he could have described in words to anyone that hadn't experienced it. It was as though he had developed a new sense; a new way of experiencing the world. It had been fascinating, and a little frightening, and it had felt really good.

So good, in fact, that he had wanted to do it again. He had wanted to discover what else he could do. The very next day, he had returned to the magic shop for more ingredients and information, excited by the new world that had unexpectedly opened up before him. It was then that Anthony had said something that had made him stop and think.

It hadn't been intentional, in fact, the old man had been trying to encourage him, but his words acted as a deterrent. He had implied that magic could become an addiction.

Alan's parents were addicts. For as long as he could remember, they had been on a gradual descent further and further into the clutches of dependency, and their sons had been forced to watch them disappear.

Addiction was frightening. More frightening even than the vampires and other unknown monsters that stalked Santa Carla after nightfall. It invaded your home without you realizing, and by the time you or someone else notice what has happened, it may already be too late. Addiction meant sacrificing a part of yourself in exchange for a meaningless high.

Edgar and Alan's parents had been using for so long that they no longer believed they could function without it. They didn't seem to realize how badly they functioned with it, because the ability to see something like that had also been taken away from them.

If there was even the slightest possibility of becoming addicted to magic, Alan wanted nothing to do with it. 

Only, he already had something to do with it. He had experienced it, and the memory of the power lingered in his mind. Learning that his life was potentially at risk from a murderer had made him reconsider briefly, but even as he had argued the case for learning defensive magic to Edgar, he had worried that it was the magic controlling him as he spoke.

And now here he was, doing magic again.

Only now, he wondered whether it was the lesser of two evils

The things that Sophie had said to Edgar prayed on his mind, as he knew that they must on Edgar's. She may have been lying, but she may not. He itched to ask Anthony, but now didn't seem an appropriate time. When this was over, when the murderer had been stopped, he, and possibly Edgar too, would be able to ask all the questions they needed. Until then, he was forced to wonder whether his family was cursed either way, and whether he and Edgar would be forced to decide between practicing magic and risking turning into their parents.

For now, he concentrated his attention on the task he had been given. He carried the kettle of boiling water from the back room into the shop and poured it onto the chopped bindweed that he had brushed into a glass beaker. It looked very similar to the ones he would use in his school's science lab, apart from the fact that it was clean and the bottom was entirely free of scorch marks.

As he worked, Anthony watched him with one eye, the other on his own spell. The situation left Alan with the strange feeling that he was in a science lesson at school, following a teacher's instructions to conduct a chemistry experiment.

As he added the water, the color of the plant began to seep out, coloring it a sickly yellow. Anthony's description of the potion as a kind of tea had been accurate, but it didn't look or smell like something most people would drink voluntarily. 

Anthony slid a long wooden stick across the table. “Stir it in a clockwise direction,” he instructed.

Alan did as he was asked. The yellowy color that had begin to collect in the bottom, around the herb, was whisked up into the potion as the fragments of dried bindweed spun around their glass container.

As he stirred, Anthony wrote a few lines on a scrap of paper. He turned it around and placed it in front of Alan. “Keep stirring as you read this,” he instructed. “This is where we add the magic. You need to concentrate completely on what you're doing. Repeat the words until the spell is complete.”

“How will I know when that is?” Alan asked. He glanced down at the paper. The words were in plain English, not the Latin he had been expecting, or even the incomprehensible, thee and thou 'olde English' of the movies. This was easy to remember, and there was no confusion over what the words meant.

He began to speak. Nerves constricted his throat and made his voice sound hoarse and hushed to his own ears, but he continued, repeating the few lines of words as he stirred the potion slowly and methodically.

As he spoke, he allowed his eyes to slip closed, blocking out the distractions around him and helping him to concentrate. The world shrunk to two things, himself, and the potion. Then, with every repetition of the words, they began to merge until they became almost the same thing.

Anthony was right, he could tell when it was finished. Just on the verge of his awareness, he could feel it, a connection between himself and the – his – potion.

Prying his eyes open again was an effort, and when he succeeded, it came as a surprise to see the shop still there and looking exactly as it had before. Anthony was still sitting hunched over the desk, working in silence on his own, much more complicated spell. Alan blinked as he came out of the almost trance-like state. He carefully filtered out the fragments of the herb from the water and experimented with the strange yet somehow comforting feeling in the back of his mind.

He couldn't actually do anything with it; the spell would not be complete until he had someone that he could use it on. Once someone ingested or came into contact with it, the connection would pass to them, and he would be able to use it to control them.

That thought made him feel powerful, and the feeling of power terrified him.

“Are you ready?” Anthony asked suddenly.

Alan jumped in surprise as the unexpected question broke the silence and interrupted his thoughts. He tested the connection again, and nodded slowly. 

The potion was now a transparent brown color. Floating in it were tiny fragments of the bindweed that had been too small to be caught by the strainer. Carefully, Alan tipped a little of the liquid from the glass container into Edgar's water gun. He put in the stopper and practiced taking aim, making sure to point the gun away from Anthony.

“Are you sure this will work?” he asked.

Anthony nodded. “It will work if you believe that it will. Before you do a spell, you have to know that you can do it.”

“Great,” Alan said doubtfully. He carefully placed the water gun down on the desk. “I guess if I need to use it, we'll find out if I believe it or not.”

Anthony looked for a moment as though he was going to explain what he had said further. Instead, he shook his head. “Bring your brother down,” he said. “I'm almost finished, things seem to be going according to plan.”

Alan bit his lip. You just didn't say things like that. You can't be a vampire hunter and not subscribe to some kind of superstitious belief, and Alan was certain that stating that something was going well was a guarantee that things would start to go wrong. Tempting fate.

He decided not to comment, and instead got to his feet and walked into the back room.

* * *

The curtain in Sophie's bedroom was a deep crimson red. It made Sam think of blood, which made him think of vampires. In a way, Sophie was a kind of vampire. She didn't drink blood – or maybe she did, he wasn't clear on the ritual involved in the murders – but she did steal something from other people, killing them to enhance her own power.

The fabric of the curtain was thick and heavy, designed to keep out the light. He supposed that was necessary when your bedroom overlooked Santa Carla's boardwalk. Alan's room, in a similar position but just a little further down the road, was separated from the bright, flashing electric lights by a thin piece of cotton, printed with the American flag. It was held in place by a piece of string and two nails. His own work, Sam assumed.

He pulled the curtain aside and looked out over the boardwalk below. It was strange seeing it from above when he was so used to being one of the many people wandering somewhat aimlessly below. It made him feel separate from the people down there, going about their everyday business or enjoying their vacation with no idea that someone was observing them from above. When night came, they would have no idea what else was watching them either, but Sam would.

He wondered whether Edgar and Alan ever thought like that. Growing up looking out over the heads of oblivious passers by, running a shop on the boardwalk while other kids their age came in as customers. It had to have made them feel apart from the other people in town from the start. Even before they found out about the vampires, or the magic. Actually, it explained a lot about them.

It was mid afternoon. On a normal Friday, he would still be in school, watching as the clock on the wall ticked down the agonizingly slow minutes until the final bell, when he would be released for two blissful days of freedom. On this particular Friday, he was standing in the bedroom of a potentially insane murdering warlock, waiting for her to get home so that he could participate in an ambush.

He turned to look at Edgar.

His friend had been pacing since they had gone back upstairs. His route took him around the room, out into the hall and back in an endless loop. Sam watched his progress silently, not sure whether talking would make things better or worse.

He wondered how he managed to keep getting himself into these messes. He should be in school. It would be boring, but at least he would be in less danger of being killed. He thought briefly about leaving. It would be easy to just walk out the door and go home while he was still able to get out. But as easy as it might be, it would also be incredibly difficult. Edgar and Alan were his friends, his best friends, and they had saved his life. He owed them, even if the only thing he could do to lend support was be around. Because if it came down to a fight using magic, there wouldn't be a lot he could do to help.

He glanced across at Edgar again as he paced out of the room, paused at the top of the stairs and tilted his head as though straining to listen to what was happening in the front of the shop. If Sam felt useless, he wondered whether Edgar felt the same way. Alan was downstairs doing magic, Edgar had as good as given him permission. Edgar, who hated magic with a passion almost as strong as his hatred of vampires.

As Edgar paced back into the room, he noticed Sam's eyes on him. He quickly turned away and marched to the opposite side. Sam watched him, observing the tension in his steps. He smiled encouragingly to Edgar's back. “He's going to be fine,” you know.

Edgar stopped his endless pacing, spun on his heel and stared at Sam. He frowned.

“Who is?”

“Alan. You don't need to worry about him, he's fine.”

Edgar nodded. The fingers of one hand absently picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his jacked, pulling it longer as the material began to fray around a tiny hole.

“Of course he is,” he said. “All he's doing is chopping a few herbs, right? Any half competent cook could do that, it's not difficult.” 

His eyes challenged Sam to say anything else was happening, but Sam knew better than to disagree with the look in Edgar's eyes. He closed his mouth and nodded wordlessly.

Edgar gave him an odd look. His expression softened slightly and he opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could give voice to whatever thought had entered his head, he was interrupted by the sound of creaking floorboards and footsteps on the stairs.

He froze, clamped his jaw closed and held up his right hand, palm outwards, his and Alan's signal for quiet. One of the few that Sam recognized. Sam nodded.

Edgar switched instantly to stealth mode. The nervous tension in his body drained away and his motions gained a fluidity that had been absent from his earlier anxious pacing. Despite the heavy-footedness of the pacing, he now somehow managed to achieve almost complete silence. His feet in their army-issue boots, crept across the room, avoiding every single loose or creaking floorboard, almost as though he had been mapping the room in his head.

He crossed the floor in a couple of seconds, and stopped next to the door, his back pressed against the wall. He motioned to Sam to copy him.

Sam manged to duplicate his motions, but not his stealth, he sacrificed silence for speed, jogging across the room on his toes, and sticking to the wall at the other side of the door.

Outside, the footsteps moved from the stairs and began to cross the hall.

They were far from invisible standing on either side of the door but if the person approaching was Sophie, she would hopefully enter the room without noticing them, giving Edgar time to ambush her. Sam just hoped to stay out of sight. He wasn't afraid to fight, but it didn't seem right to hit a girl, even if she was evil.

But if Edgar wanted to do it for him, he had no problem with that..

The footsteps stopped outside the door. Edgar tensed, ready to pounce, or maybe just to slip out of the door unnoticed, if he needed to. Sam pressed his body further back into the wall, as though he could push right through and out the other side.

The door swung open toward Sam, blocking his view of Edgar and whoever had come through. He held his breath and remained as silent as he could, waiting and listening as someone walked inside. The footsteps on the carpeted floor didn't sound like Sophie's. Then, he heard Alan's voice, and relaxed.

“You guys should come down now,” Alan said.

Sam released the breath he had been holding, and stepped around the door. He found Edgar looking at his brother in relief, which turned quickly to irritation, and finally to worry.

“We thought you were Sophie,” Sam explained.

Alan smirked, and Sam thought back to his reaction he and Edgar hiding in the back room. He wondered whether Alan had intended to get revenge, or whether it had been a happy accident.

Edgar shook his head in exasperation and began to walk out of the room, then he hesitated. “Are you all done with the... stuff?”

Alan nodded. “Yeah, for now.” He turned to leave. ”Come on.”

Sam waited for Edgar to make a move. The vampire hunter stood very still, as though rooted to the spot, staring after his brother. Sam waited nervously, watching him closely.

Finally, Edgar appeared to shake off whatever was bothering him, he shrugged and walked through the door. Sam followed him down the stairs, reluctance slowed his movements as he sensed the approach of something unpleasant, but knew he had no choice but to participate.


	19. Chapter 19

Edgar listened to the tread of his boots on the carpeted stairs. He could feel his own heartbeat, as though it were thumping against his ribcage, attempting to break free of his chest. Tiny beads of sweat were beginning to form on the skin of his brow. He was acting like a scared little kid, he knew it, he hated it, and there was nothing that he could do to stop it.

His clammy palms stuck to the handrail at the side of the staircase. He lifted his hand and rubbed it quickly against the fabric of his combat pants.

Walking ahead of him, Alan slipped back through the curtain and into the front of the shop. Edgar forced himself to keep moving. He could deny it to himself all he wanted, he could continue to deny knowledge to Alan and Sam forever, but beyond the curtain was proof of what his brother had been doing. He didn't want to see Alan doing magic. If he was forced to see proof that Alan was something other than normal, then he was forced to believe the same thing of himself. And of his parents, in their drug-addled haze that might be his future.

But he had shown enough weakness today. If he continued like this, people were going to stop respecting him, and without respect, how could he call himself Head Frog?

He emptied his lungs, took a deep breath, held it and then exhaled slowly. It calmed him slightly, but barely enough to make a difference. That done, he abandoned his slow and hesitant, forced steps and marched decisively down the stairs. Without pausing at the bottom or turning to look at Sam behind him, he swept aside the curtain that separated the two halves of the first floor.

The first thing he saw on the other side of the curtain was the desk covered with unidentifiable... stuff. The old cash register still sat on one side, and on top of it was a roll of paper of the same kind that was stuck around the shop telling customers the price of their purchases, but other than that, the desk looked more like it belonged in a fantasy movie than a boardwalk store.

In addition to the carefully weighed piles of herbs, either whole or ground or chopped, Anthony had set up candles on the desk, most of them still unlit. He sat on a wooden chair with his back to the curtain, exactly as he had when Edgar had come downstairs earlier. He had set up some kind of wire frame on the desk. It held a small drinking glass suspended over the one lit candle on the desk. The flame heated the liquid inside as the soot rising from it blackened the bottom of the glass. The liquid inside was a watery green color. The old man stirred it slowly, muttering something under his breath as he did.

Alan had already walked past the old man, and was standing on the other side of the desk, watching him as he worked. As Edgar looked at him, Alan twitched as though startled and immediately focused his attention elsewhere, acting as though the spell being performed in front of him was of no interest.

Anthony noticed Alan's reaction and paused briefly in his stirring and muttering to turn around and watch Edgar and Sam as they walked through into the shop.

His mouth set in a grim line, Edgar nodded in greeting to the old practitioner, and then walked past him to join his brother on the other side of the desk. He attempted to maintain his facade of confidence.

As he had said, Alan's spell appeared to be finished. The water gun had been filled, and was laying on the table in front of him. The rest of what he assumed was the potion he had created sat in a glass beaker next to it; a sickly brown colored liquid. A little of the same substance was leaking out of the end of the water gun. He eyed the wetness on the desk nervously, then remembered confidence and glared at Anthony.

Whatever the old man had been doing appeared to be finished. He blew out the candle and placed the small metal stick that he had been using to stir onto the desk in front of him.

“Welcome,” he said.

Sam smiled at him in his usual friendly manner, and Edgar fought the urge to roll his eyes at him.

“Have you done with the magic?” he asked.

Anthony nodded. “The preparation, yes. If I have to use the spell, obviously more will be involved.” He smiled kindly.

This time, Edgar did roll his eyes. 

Anthony frowned at his display, and Alan nudged Edgar with his elbow. Edgar demonstrated how little he cared with a shrug.

“Fine, whatever. More magic, always a good idea.” He paused and took a breath. “Right. We've been lucky so far, you've had time to do all this before she got back, we still have the element of surprise. We shouldn't waste it. We ambush, we incapacitate...”

“No,” Anthony interrupted. “We do not.” Any friendliness that had been in his voice earlier, any kindness or understanding, evaporated in that instant and suddenly his words appeared to vibrate with threat.

Edgar shook his head. “No? Then what do you think we should do? Warn her we're here before she comes in, then ask if she wants to give us a confession? No. I know you still think she might be innocent, and I get that, she's family, but we can't take any chances. We take her by surprise, we get a confession – or don't, if you're right – and then take care of it.”

Something changed.

The air in the room suddenly felt thick and oppressive, and the beginnings of a headache started to throb at the front of Edgar's skull. Something about the old man's demeanor had changed, it wasn't just his anger or irritation, it was something more. Something coming off of him in waves that hit Edgar with almost physical force, seeping into his skin and deep into his flesh until it touched something inside of him that was indefinable, insubstantial and yet very real. Edgar felt himself shiver, and somehow he knew that he had sensed the old man's power, and that he was incredibly strong. Suddenly, Anthony didn't look quite so harmless any more.

He glanced at Alan and Sam. His brother's eyes had widened slightly as he looked at the practitioner with the same kind of terrified awe that Edgar was feeling. Sam frowned, apparently oblivious to what had just happened.

Unless it had been specifically targeted at the two of them, and Edgar doubted that, whatever he had done had spoken to the magic inside himself and his brother, asserting his strength over theirs. He was stronger, he was in charge.

Edgar shuddered again, and this time it had nothing to do with the power he had sensed.

He gulped despite how dry his mouth felt, and forced himself to make eye contact with the old man again. “Alright then,” he said. “How do you want to play it?”

The wave of power receded and Anthony got to his feet and walked around the desk. Edgar fought the urge to back away from him.

“When Sophie returns, I will ask her some questions. I will find out the truth, and if I believe that you are right, I will perform the spell. The spell will take away her ability to access her magic, which will make murdering to acquire power useless.”

“It'll take away...” Edgar paused and glanced at his brother, seeing the same question in his eyes. He stared at Anthony. “Permanently?”

Anthony turned and glanced at the arranged spell components on the desk. He nodded, and when he turned back to Edgar, he looked like an old man again. The power rolling off him into the room receded completely and he looked very old, tired and sad. “I don't want to do it,” he said, “but to save her life, I will. And before you ask, I won't do the same thing to either of you. It's a terrible thing to do, and illegal. If I were found out, the council would execute me. But to save her from them...”

To save a mass murderer from execution, he would risk the same fate himself. Edgar bit his tongue to prevent the words coming out, reluctant to make him angry again.

“Alright, so I guess we're hiding while you have your little heart to heart,” Edgar said.

Anthony nodded. “If Sophie becomes suspicious, she will attempt to use her influence spell on me. She will find it weakened now that you have destroyed the physical part of it, but if she truly is the murderer, she may have acquired a lot of power, so that may not matter to her. In that case, Alan, you will have to stop her, suppress her magic temporally so that I can... take it away.”

Edgar really, really wanted to give an opinion on Anthony's plan, but his demonstration of his power had been so unnerving that he wasn't sure he dared even risk experiencing that again, let alone the things that he could do with it. The ability to take away someone's magical ability. It sounded like a dream come true, yet when Anthony had said that he wouldn't use it on him or Alan, Edgar had been relieved. He didn't want Anthony's magic to touch him ever again.

“One thing,” he ventured, a little more hesitantly than he would have liked. “Wouldn't it be better if she couldn't use her spell on you in the first place?”

He looked sideways at Alan, moving only his eyes and keeping half his attention on the old man. He allowed his teeth to tease his bottom lip as he paused to think. He didn't want Alan to use the spell he had prepared, of course he didn't, but he had a feeling that it was going to happen anyway, no matter what he, or Alan, or anyone else thought about it. Better to get it out of the way early and save everyone a lot of trouble.

“I say Alan hides near the door, as soon as she comes in, he gives her a soaking, does his thing, and then you can have your chat without risking getting Jedi mindfucked. If she's innocent she's free to go, no harm done. If not, you do what you've got to do, and the streets are safe from a murderer.”

He felt ripples of power coming from Anthony again. He didn't know whether it was something he was doing deliberately, or something that just happened. He almost hoped it was deliberate, because he hadn't felt it before, and he didn't want to have to think he was developing powers of his own.

The effect wasn't so strong this time, but he could still feel it, like insects just under his skin, power seeping in, and something inside of him responding. He held up his hands, palms outwards in surrender.

“Actually, forget it. Do it your way. Whatever.”

“You should hide now,” Anthony said.

In the back room, Edgar heard the sound of a key turning in a lock.

He slipped effortlessly into stealth mode, his earlier irritation and nervousness draining away into a place at the back of his mind where they wouldn't bother him while he had more important things to concentrate on. He glanced from Alan to Sam, pressing a finger against his lips just in case either one of them were too stupid or distracted to realize that silence was implied. He beckoned for them to follow him as he crept soundlessly into the part of the shop filled with bookcases.

Alan's hand hovered briefly over the water gun before he snatched it from the desk and followed his brother and friend into hiding. From the position he had taken, crouched low to the ground behind one of the more densely stacked shelves near the front of the shop, Edgar peered through the small gap between books and prayed Alan would make it into hiding in time.

“Have I missed something?” Sam asked in a whisper. “How come you're taking orders from that guy suddenly? I thought you were in charge.”

Alan arrived just in time to hear the end of the question. He dodged quickly behind the shelf and looked at Edgar expectantly, as though he didn't know the answer either.

Edgar sighed. “Turns out that guy's the magical equivalent of a pro wrestler or something. If Sophie really can control him, she's a hell of a lot scarier than I gave her credit for.”

Alan nodded in agreement while Sam watched them through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“I'm thinking I really did miss something,” he said. “Something magical that he did, right?”

Edgar grimaced at the memory of the power washing over him and exchanged a warning glance with Alan. “Shut up, Sam,” he whispered. He turned around, closed his eyes and allowed his head to lean back against the wooden shelf. “Just shut up.”

He didn't know whether he wanted silence to avoid detection, or whether he just didn't want Sam to know. Both, he supposed, but one slightly more than the other.

From the back room, he heard the tap of open toed sandals on the hard floor, and then the rustle of the curtain being pushed aside. Instantly, he froze completely still, not daring to move for fear of making a sound. Even his breathing slowed to a point where it was almost undetectable as he tried to remain as quiet as humanly possible.

He had trained for this kind of eventuality, but he had never faced it before. He was in the monster's lair, with two comrades relying on his leadership skills, and no idea what he should do. If Sophie became aware that they were there, if she really was as powerful as he suspected, he didn't doubt that she could kill them easily. They couldn't escape without being seen. Attack was the only option, and he had no choice but to send his brother in alone.

It would have been so much easier to ambush her. His ideas were better than Anthony's. The old man's judgment was clouded by his instinctive trust for his family. Edgar could understand that. If someone accused Alan of something so terrible, he would fight to the death to defend him.

He just hoped Anthony wasn't that stubborn, because the last thing he needed was to be going up against two warlocks. Of course, he was disregarding the possibility that Anthony was right and Sophie was innocent. He knew that could be the case. The things Sophie had said to him had made him frightened and angry and willing to believe anything about her. But what if she really was innocent of the murders? He almost hoped she was, they were more likely to survive the day.

But it wasn't just what she had said to him, it was everything. Her constant insistence that he unlock his unwanted abilities, the things that she had known that she shouldn't; the disguised malice in her words. It had to be her.

He just hoped that Anthony would come to believe it too, and before it was too late.

Footsteps moved further into the room.


	20. Chapter 20

Dust from the floor of the magic shop stuck to Alan's clothes as he sat sandwiched between Edgar and Sam. From where they were hiding, he could make out the indistinct forms of passers by through the tinted glass window as they strolled up and down the boardwalk, oblivious to the drama that was playing out just a few feet away.

Sunlight poured in through the yellow glass, bathing all three of them in light and heat. That, coupled with the body heat of his brother and friend pressed tightly against him on either side, made him uncomfortably warm and he felt himself start to sweat. Through two layers of clothing, he could literally feel the stress in Edgar and Sam's bodies at their tensed muscles pressed against his own.

Sam was breathing.

They were all breathing, of course, but he could hear Sam. Only just, and he was sure it was only because they were squashed so closely together that they were almost sharing the same space, but he could hear him, and he wondered whether anyone else could too.

He also wondered whether anyone else could hear his heartbeat, because as quiet as he forced his breathing to become, he could hear his own heart beating so loudly that it seemed impossible that it couldn't be noticed from out on the boardwalk.

The tapping of sandals on the tiled floor announced Sophie's arrival in the room. He swallowed slowly, convinced that the sound would carry across the room and to her ears. The legs of a chair scraped on the floor, either Anthony adjusting his position, or Sophie sitting down. Either way, not a sign of immediate danger.

If he could have turned around, he would have been able to peer through the shelves and see what was happening, but the act of moving carried too much risk of being heard, so instead he maintained his position on the ground, knees pushed up against his chest, staring straight ahead at the tinted window as he tried to work out what was happening behind him.

Another chair, or possibly the same one, scraped on the floor. He exchanged a glance with Edgar. The frustrated look he got back said that his brother didn't know what was happening either.

“Still working on the tracing spell?” Sophie's voice carried across the room to their hiding place. She sounded calm, normal. If she had any idea that something was wrong, the suspicion didn't make it into her voice.

“I've just about finished,” Anthony replied. He paused. It went on too long, stretching into an unnatural, uncomfortable silence. Then came the sound of Anthony clearing his throat.

Next to him, Edgar rolled his eyes. The old man may claim to believe Sophie was innocent, but he was doing a good job of impersonating someone who thought she was guilty. His voice sounded tight and tense, and his conversation stilted. He was going to give away that something was wrong.

“Did you have a good day at school?” Anthony asked, breaking the long silence and managing to sound more conversational this time.

At his other side, Sam suddenly began fishing in the pocket of his jacket. As he moved, his elbow jabbed repeatedly into Alan's side. Alan tried to edge a little further away from him, squashing himself further into Edgar. Edgar glared at Sam accusingly, but he was too engrossed in his task to notice. 

The reply to Anthony's question was inaudible, either she spoke too quietly for him to hear, or the reply was a nod, or a shrug, something that couldn't be heard.

“Good,” Anthony said.

Sam finally located what he had been searching for in his pocket. Triumphantly, he raised his hand in the air. He was holding a small, round... something. Alan frowned at it in confusion. Sam rotated the thing. The back was covered in plastic, and at one side it had been very obviously snapped off of something. Broken plastic hinges looked twisted and sharp. It looked like half of a woman powder compact, without the powder. A mirror.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Alan found himself grinning. He caught Edgar's eye and smirked, Edgar rolled his eyes again in response. He should have known Sam would carry something like that. He watched as his friend raised the mirror into the air, angling it so that the reflection showed them what was happening at the other side of the shop, through the books on the shelf.

Edgar shot them an irritated glance, too far away to see anything.

Being able to see what was happening didn't actually make any difference. Sophie had sat herself down in the chair that had been Alan's, her back to the area where they were hiding. Anthony leaned forward slightly and looked at Sophie seriously.

“Now, Sophie. While you're here there's something I need to talk to you about,” Anthony said.

They were too far away and the reflection was too small to make out much, but from the way she sat up straight in her chair, Alan could tell that she was giving him her full attention.

“Sure, what is it?”

“The thing is...” He paused and cleared his throat. “Sophie, I need to know...”

Alan stared into the mirror, willing the old man to just spit the words out, but at the same time not wanting to see her reaction if he did exactly that.

“The thing is,” he tried again, “someone has said something... Someone had told me something, and I don't think it's true, so I need you to tell me.”

He stopped again. Sophie was still sitting, staring at him. Alan wished he could see her face, but at this distance, through the tiny mirror it probably wouldn't make much difference.

Edgar shook his head as he listened to the conversation. “He's useless,” he whispered, just under his breath.

Sam stared at him in horror as he broke their self-imposed silence, then looked back into the mirror, where he saw that neither practitioner appeared to have heard him. He nodded in agreement. 

“Now,” Anthony continued, “I want to let you know that no matter what happens, you're still my granddaughter and...”

“Grandpa, you're scaring me a bit,” Sophie interrupted. She did genuinely sound worried, but that didn't mean that she was guilty, or that she wasn't. The strange, hesitant tone to Anthony's voice would make anyone nervous. Alan exchanged a glance with Sam, and they looked back at the mirror.

Edgar them watched jealously, obviously assuming that they knew something he couldn't.

“I'm sorry,” Anthony said. He got to his feet, his chair scraped on the ground as he did. He walked slowly around the desk toward her. “Sophie, I've been in your room, I've seen your altar. Some of the spells you've been doing...” he paused again.

Without any kind of warning, Edgar suddenly reached across and snatched at the mirror. He tried to pry it free from Sam's hand and take it for himself to see what was going on. Sam instinctively pulled his hand away, but as he did, the mirror slipped from his fingers. Both Edgar and Sam watched in horror as it fell to the ground.

Before it could hit the tiled floor, Alan reached out with both hands and caught it an inch from the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief as his fingers closed around it, then glared at Edgar, who had the decency to look embarrassed. He handed it back to Sam.

Sam smiled in thanks, either for the catch or for giving it back, and then handed it across to Edgar with a look that said he only needed to ask.

Edgar glared at both of them in silent frustration, and Alan was almost glad that none of them dared make a sound at this point. He watched his brother raise and angle the mirror in the same way that Sam had.

Alan leaned across in the other direction, so that he could still see the action behind them, but as he moved, he began to feel the sensation of magic that was quickly becoming familiar to him. It was a creeping sensation under his skin and a building pressure inside his head. He glanced at Edgar. His brother was frowning as he stared into the mirror, but Alan couldn't tell whether he was sensing the same thing or just trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

The wave of power that Anthony had transmitted earlier had shocked Alan, but more than that he had been shocked to learn that Edgar had felt it too. Once before, he had thought he detected a hint of Anthony's power, like a wall of water held at bay by a dam, but this time he had either let some leak out and wash into the room, or more terrifyingly, it had escaped.

This felt different. This was Sophie's power. It was stronger than Anthony's, and she was using it, rather than just flexing invisible muscles.

The sensation receded slightly, but remained as an electric buzz in the air, slight, but still noticeable.

Alan leaned back across to look in the mirror. Sophie was still sitting on the other side of the desk, in the seat that had been his. “...never do anything like that,” she was saying.

“No, no of course not,” Anthony said. All hesitancy was gone from his voice. He reached across the desk, knocking magical supplies out of the way with his hand, and patted her on the arm. He looked happy, and sounded relieved. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

Alan silently cursed his brother and his impatient need to know what was happening. In the mad scramble for the mirror, he had missed something, and something important. Luckily, he knew what it was; he had felt it happen.

Anthony sat back in his chair and shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Why did I ever think it was possible?”

“It's okay, grandpa,” Sophie told him. On the surface, her words were soothing and calm, but underneath that, Alan could detect her anger and tension at having been found out.

Edgar moved the mirror down, out of Alan's line of sight. He passed it across to Sam, who put it back in his pocket, then he looked Alan in the eye. He didn't say a word, but his expression said that he knew what had happened too, and that it was time for Alan to do something about it.

The water gun was laying on the floor next to Alan's feet. Alan looked down at it, and then back up at his brother. His heartbeat had slowed slightly when they hadn't been instantly detected, but as he contemplated performing the spell, it increased again until once again he was certain it could be heard. He had gone along with making the potion because he had no choice, and he had even managed to convince himself that he would be able to use it if he needed to. He had listened carefully to Anthony's instructions, and he knew exactly what he had to do, but he had assumed that he wouldn't actually have to do this.

He was supposed to be a backup, a plan B. If all else failed, he would be able to step in and help, but the idea that all else really would fail had never actually occurred to him.

His hand reached for the gun, but didn't make contact.

Edgar was watching him intently, Alan observed his brother's stare out of the corner of his eye. In it, he could see the desperation that had let Edgar to ask him to do something that he so clearly hated.

“Who told you those things about me?” Sophie asked. Her tone sounded merely interested. There was no malice in it, just a curious girl asking her grandfather an innocent question. He was going to answer her, because he trusted her. Alan knew that he had to move quickly, before Anthony told her everything.

Still, he hesitated.

Edgar released a breath as a hushed grunt of frustration and grabbed hold of Alan by the collar of his t-shirt. He dragged his brother's ear toward his mouth and spoke in an angry hiss. “If there was another way, we'd use it. Frogs don't hesitate. Go. Do your thing.”

The water gun was still laying on the ground by his feet. A little of the potion was had leaked out of the end onto the floor.

Edgar released his grip on Alan's shirt and locked eyes with him. His expression was grim but determined. They really didn't have another option, they had to attack now before Sophie found them. If they didn't they were dead.

But the spell could go wrong, it might not work. If he rushed out and failed, he would have given their position away for nothing.

He didn't want Edgar to see him doing it.

“Go!” Edgar mouthed at him silently, miming a push with his hands. At his other side, Sam was nodding enthusiastically.

He tested the connection to the potion, still sitting on the edge of his awareness. It felt as strong as it ever had, it almost begged him to be used. His fingers slid across the floor to where the gun was waiting for him. He moved slowly but decisively, still hoping that as the last second something would happen that would mean he didn't need to use it. Nothing did.

As his fingertips made contact with the plastic gun, the strength of the connection intensified. He blinked and allowed himself a second to recover before he took the toy in his hand.

He looked to Edgar for confirmation that this was really what he wanted. His brother was staring at him intently, waiting. In answer to Alan's unspoken question, he nodded.

“Now,” he whispered.

In one fluid move, Alan sprung to his feet and rounded the end of the shelf, placing him in full view of the counter where Sophie was standing. She was turned away from him, looking at her grandfather, waiting for an answer to her question. Alan pointed the gun and took a deep breath, relaxing himself before he fired, perfecting his aim.

Anthony turned his head slightly and looked straight at him. His eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth to speak. Alan shook his head, but it was too late, the old man had already given his position away.

Time slowed to a crawl. Sophie turned to look at him, her face creased in confusion, which morphed quickly to anger as she stepped toward him.

Suddenly, the air felt thick with magic. It assaulted his senses, growing in intensity beyond anything he had experienced before, far beyond what he had sensed from Anthony. Pressure built inside his mind until it felt like his head was going to explode, and then it built further. Thought became impossible, movement became impossible, he wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor in a whimpering heap and wait for it to pass. Only, it wasn't going to pass.

This was the force of Sophie's magic building before she turned it on him. When she did, he was going to die, and then so would Edgar, and Sam, and then Sophie would make her grandfather forget, and they would continue their murder tour of the country. He couldn't let that happen.

He forced his arm to move, taking aim again through vision blurred with pain, and squeezed the trigger. He fired again and again, not sure whether he was hitting his target or not. At some point, he had closed his eyes against the agonizing pain in his head. He fired again, shouting out the words to the spell as he did.

As he did, he felt the connection shift from the potion to the girl. He could feel her power in another way now, like a vast, stormy ocean inside her. He reached out with the senses that until today he hadn't realized that he possessed, and blocked her from her power Suddenly, the pressure inside his mind stopped.

The sudden absence of pain came as almost as much of a shock as the pain itself. He felt the water gun drop from his fingers and heard it hit the ground. Slowly, he forced his eyes to open and blinked as his vision returned to normal.

He forced in a deep breath, and watched as Sophie frowned, reaching for the spell that had slipped from between her fingers. It wouldn't return. Her frown deepened as her concentration intensified. Alan could feel her magic, bubbling beneath the surface of her skin, and he could hold it back.

It made him feel powerful.

Sophie roared in frustration and ran at him suddenly and unexpectedly in a confusion of clicking heels and sharp nails. He tried to hold her back at the same time as he tried to hold onto the spell in his mind, not daring to lose his concentration for a second. If she could use magic, they would lose.

“What have you done to me?” she snarled.

Black painted nails went for his eyes, and he grabbed her by the wrists, stopping her before she could do any damage. She shrieked and struggled, kicking with her feet as she tried to free her hands for another attack.

Alan held tightly to her wrists. Letting go would mean she could regroup for another attack, but holding on meant that he was essentially trapped, not able to attack or defend any further. It was a basic error, and one that had resulted in a stalemate. Luckily, Alan had backup.

Or, he thought he did. Apparently, his backup was either still hiding, or thought he was doing fine on his own. Still concentrating on subduing Sophie's magic and her physical attack, he yelled for help.


	21. Chapter 21

Pain.

Agony like he had never experienced ripped through Edgar's body, a whole new level of pain like he had never even imagined could exist. The world shrunk until it consisted of nothing but him and the pain.

His head felt as though it would literally split in two. Immense pressure seemed to build on the inside of his skill, as though something inside was expanding rapidly. 

He had pushed his palms against his temples as though their presence could hold his head intact. His arms had no strength, his muscles quivered as pain sapped all energy from his body. He couldn't even bring himself to scream, his body was no longer his to command, it was operating independently of his mind, struggling to survive. He felt himself slump forward until his forehead rested on his knees.

Vaguely, somewhere on the edge of his awareness, he could feel hands gripping his shoulders tightly, holding him, pulling his shoulder against the flat surface of someone else's chest while words were spoken in his ear. He couldn't make them out, over the roar of blood in his ears, but the tone was comforting. They didn't help a bit.

He forced in and out a breath of air. Every nerve in his body was awake and screaming. It felt as though electric current was running through his veins, but it wasn't electricity, it was magic. And deep inside, in the part of him that he didn't know, and that he didn't want to know, he could feel a response. His own power, tiny in comparison to this onslaught, rising up against his will, to greet its superior.

He imagined he could feel a barrier inside him, his own power could only rise so far, but the force outside called to it so strongly that he thought he could feel the barrier begin to buckle and crack under the pressure.

Then suddenly, with no warning, it stopped. Pain receded quickly, leaving him floating in a void of relief and confusion.

He dragged in another breath, feeling it shaking under the convulsive trembling even in his chest as his body tried to recover from the shock of the agony and the vacuum its sudden absence left behind. Fingers, clumsy with exhaustion and jittery with adrenaline raked through his hair. His hands gripping the sides of his head had displaced the bandanna that had been tied around his head. Feeling its unexpected absence, his fingertips automatically began to search for it.

A hand touched his own lightly, brushing cloth against the back of his knuckles. Slowly and reluctantly, he forced open his eyes. One of Sam's arms had slipped around his back and was holding his shoulder tightly, while the other hand offered the missing strip of red material. Edgar took it. He ran hands over his face, wiping away the sweat that coated his skin, and then attempted to untie the knot.

His fingers refused to respond properly to his commands, and finally he surrendered and shoved the bandana into his jacket pocket angrily, forcing in another breath as he did.

He had found tears on his cheeks when he touched his face. He hadn't been crying, he didn't think he had, if was just a physical reaction, but how embarrassing. Quickly, he swiped at his eyes again with the fingers of both hands before he looked at Sam. Sam's arm was still embracing him tightly, and Edgar didn't push him away quite yet.

“Has it stopped?” Sam asked.

He nodded slowly, careful not to jar his abused head any further, not sure that he trusted himself to speak.

Sam's free hand reached inside Edgar's jacket pocket and retrieved the bandanna. The arm embracing him moved slowly and reluctantly, tracing its way along his back until the contact suddenly disappeared. For a moment, until he remembered himself, he missed it.

Sam's fingernails picked at the tight knot until it was undone, then he handed it back to Edgar. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so.” Edgar said. His voice sounded steady. He cleared his throat and in deft movements, retied the bandanna around his head. He instantly began to feel more like himself. “What the hell?” he muttered.

“You just collapsed,” Sam said. He turned around and peered through the shelves at what was happening on the other side. “From what I could see, it looked like whatever it was hurt Alan too, but he managed to get the spell done, and then you were both suddenly okay, so I guess...”

“It was magic,” Edgar finished for him.

Sam nodded. “I wonder why it didn't affect me?” he wondered aloud. Must be something to do with...”

“So Alan stopped her?” Edgar interrupted, cutting Sam off before he could finish vocalizing the thought.

“Yeah,” Sam said. His reply was hushed slightly, and he gave Edgar a moment to think. As what that actually meant sank in, Edgar felt the strength that had been slowly returning to his muscles begin to ebb away again. Alan had stopped Sophie using magic of his own. He, Edgar, had told him to do it. Whatever happened next, he could no longer pretend to deny that it had happened,

Alan had cast a spell, and Edgar had told him to do it. Alan's magic had saved them.

He honestly didn't know how he was supposed to feel.

Behind him, in the other part of the shop, he slowly became aware of the sounds of a struggle. With arms and legs still shaking from the prolonged tension in every muscle during the magical onslaught that had incapacitated him, he forced himself to move. His body responded slowly. Sam offered him a hand, which he accepted gratefully.

Sam's hand lingered a little too long on his own, holding a little too tightly, protectively. His eyes were full of concern. For a moment, Edgar stared back at him, until Alan's shout finally snapped him back to reality

“Edgar, Sam? Help!”

He snatched his hand back and rushed past Sam, adrenaline bypassing his mental and physical exhaustion and returning him to something like full capacity. He rounded the end of the bookshelves that had been their cover in a few short steps.

On the other side, Alan was struggling to restrain a very angry Sophie.

Technically, his brother should have had no problem overpowering her, he outweighed her, he was stronger, taller and better practiced at hand to hand combat, but somehow, she was managing to wriggle herself free.

Edgar rolled his eyes. Alan was too damn respectful. Because he was fighting a girl, he was holding back. All he needed to do was restrain her properly, but he was too much of a gentleman. God help them if they ever came up against a female vampire.

He ran into the middle of the fight. Sophie struggled with a kind of desperation that worried him. Desperate people do things that they wouldn't normally, things that rational people wouldn't consider. If the power that had assaulted him had been Sophie’s, and he was sure that it was, she was unbelievability strong. To suddenly be cut off from that much power must have been a massive shock to her. He didn't want to know what she would be willing to do to get it back.

As he rushed forward, he raised his fist ready to attack, but as he neared the struggle, he found himself hesitating.

Frogs don't hesitate. He had told Alan that only a few minutes earlier, but how many times had he broken that rule in the last few days? He was about to punch a girl in the face, while Alan held her hands so she couldn't even defend herself. Alan might be too respectful, but maybe this was a step too far in the other direction. Maybe sometimes, hesitation was a chance to reconsider a bad plan.

He squashed the thought down as far as he could. Sophie had to be stopped. If she escaped, she would be back for revenge, and she would be the one with the element of surprise. This was their only chance.

He pulled back his right arm and thrust it forward, throwing as much strength into the punch as he could manage. His fist almost made contact with her chin, but at the last moment, he veered off, avoiding hitting her, and instead grabbed hold of her arms, taking control from his brother and using a better technique.

Alan released his useless grip, and Edgar held her still with her arms pinned securely behind her back. She struggled surprisingly hard, she was stronger than she looked.

At some point during what could hardly be called a fight, Sam had also emerged from behind the bookshelf. Edgar noticed him standing with his arms folded, casually leaning against the shelves, shaking his head disapprovingly from side to side as he watched.

“For a second there, I thought you were going to punch her in the face.”

Edgar nodded. “I was, but it seemed like overkill. She's defenseless at the moment.” He turned to Alan. “How long will that spell work?”

Either at being called defenseless or the mention of the spell that had caused it, Sophie decided to prove otherwise. She raised a leg in the air and brought down her heel onto Edgar's shin with so much force that he almost screamed. Instinctively, he tightened his grip rather than loosened it, and screwed up his face in agony.

Sophie moaned in frustration.

“How long?” Edgar asked again.

Alan shrugged helplessly and looked to Anthony for an answer. The old man appeared to be in some kind of shock. Whether it was caused by the sudden breaking of Sophie's influence over him, or the horror of finally seeing the truth about her, Edgar didn't know.

To his credit, he appeared to shake it off quickly, and his eyes moved from the angry, frightened face of his granddaughter, to Edgar.

“As long as Alan can hold it, but that won't be long without experience. We need to work quickly.”

“Yeah, you'd better,” Edgar said. “I don't know about Alan, but I'm not sure how long I can hold her. I can't believe I brought all those weapons and no rope.”

Sophie ground her heel into Edgar's already battered toes and tried to pull herself free. He held tighter and shook his head.

“Alan, we need to all rope to the emergency hunting kit,” he said. “Or string, it's lighter. Just something for tying things up.”

Alan, his brow crinkled in concentration, nodded his agreement.

Anthony stepped forward until he was looking Sophie directly in the eye. He smiled sadly, and her struggling stopped briefly. Edgar maintained his grip, not daring to get complacent.

“Sophie,” Anthony said, “your influence spell won't work on me any more. I need you to tell me why you used it. If there's another reason, something other than what we're thinking, you have to tell me the truth, okay? Tell me you're not a murderer.”

Edgar stared at the old man in disbelief. After everything that had happened, he still thought that there might be another explanation. Yes, he hadn't gotten the confession or proof of her innocence that would have told them for certain, but her actions had surely been proof enough. “Seriously?” he muttered.

Anthony moved his gaze back to Edgar. Unable to turn away because he was still restraining the girl, he forced himself to maintain eye contact with the old man. He hadn't meant for the word to slip out, he hadn't meant to challenge the practitioner again. He had survived what Sophie had to throw at him, compared to that, Anthony's magic was small fry. Still, he didn't want to experience it again if he could help it.

Thankfully, Anthony didn't see the need to give another demonstration of his power, if that was even what it had been before. “She can't lie to me,” he explained. “She's my family, I can always tell when she isn't being truthful. When there are no spells between us, at least.”

Edgar broke eye contact then. His gaze dropped quickly to the ground.

He had always been able to tell when Alan was lying, Alan always knew the same thing about Edgar. Until recently, he had never even thought about it, it was just normal. Only since he learned about magic had he begun to wonder whether it was something else. If Anthony said the same thing, that made the unthinkable seem more likely.

He could feel Alan's gaze, firmly fixed on the side of his head, and he knew the same question was running through his mind. They could read each others thoughts in the flicker of an eye or a muscle twitch because they knew one another that well. That was the only reason, that was just normal too. He hoped. He made a conscious effort not to make eye contact with his brother. He didn't want to know Alan's opinion.

Apparently oblivious to the thoughts that his words had provoked, Anthony switched his attention back to his granddaughter. “Answer me, Sophie. Tell me there's another reason.”

Edgar felt Sophie testing the strength of his hold on her but without noticeably struggling. He checked his grip and tensed against her, letting her know he was still in charge. She offered no more resistance. Instead she looked up at her grandfather, stared him in the eye defiantly and spoke in a calm voice.

“Everything I did was to protect us. Don't you understand that? Someone wanted to kill us, if he came I had to be ready. I had to know that I could match his power.”

Anthony recoiled as though he had been slapped. Edgar couldn't help but move his gaze up from the ground to watch the old man's reaction. Alan and Sam were also staring at him. Alan's expression had become strained, as though he were struggling to maintain concentration on something difficult. Edgar tightened his grip further. It wouldn't help Alan's hold on her magic, but it made him feel like he was doing something to help.

“You...” Anthony said. He stopped. He looked at her sadly.

Edgar almost felt sorry for him. She was his little girl, he has obviously been a better parent to her than their own had been, even if he had decided to teach her the skills that ultimately turned her into an evil, power sucking warlock. He had raised her, and she had betrayed him. That had to hurt.

He tried not to feel the pleasant rush of schadenfreude that crept up unexpectedly from somewhere inside him.

“How many?” Anthony asked. His voice shook, either under the strain of grief or anger, Edgar couldn't tell.

Alan ran his hands over his face, his jaw was tight and his eyes wide under the strain of maintaining his grip on the spell. Edgar bit back the urge to tell Anthony to hurry it up. He didn't know whether Sophie had noticed he was losing the fight against her, if she did, she might decide to push it and manage to break free. Instead, he stared intently at the old man, as though he could will him to realize what was happening.

Sophie's voice sounded choked as she replied, “It was to protect us,” she repeated. “I didn't want to hurt anyone, but I had to. I didn't have a choice.”

“How many?” Anthony asked again.

“I don't know,” she whispered. “A few in every city. Maybe more than I needed, but the power...”

“Enough.” Anthony didn't move. He spoke quietly, but with a forcefulness that seemed to bring silence and stillness to the room. Then Anthony turned around, paced the floor, spun and walked back toward them.

Edgar tried to shoot an encouraging look at Alan, but his brother was too lost in concentration to notice. His eyes slipped closed as Edgar watched, and his brow crinkled further, as though he was trying to concentrate through a migraine.

“The original murderer,” Anthony said as he walked back toward them. “The one that killed Layla and your father. How many of the deaths in our cities were him?”

Sophie shook her head. Her voice was barely audible now as she replied reluctantly, knowing that it was over. “None of them.”

“Sophie, how could you do this to me?”

Before she could say anything in reply, Anthony reached out with the middle and forefinger of his left hand and touched her gently on the forehead. He closed his eyes and muttered a string of words in a language Edgar didn't recognize. Immediately, Sophie slumped in his arms, unconscious.

Edgar was so surprised he almost dropped her. Suddenly, not that she was no longer supporting her own weight, the girl felt ten times heavier. He looked up at the old man.

“Holy shit!”

To Anthony's left, Alan gasped in pain and gripped his head with both hands. His knees buckled and he just managed to keep himself upright. Edgar froze, torn between rushing to his side and holding the unconscious murderer upright. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I'm good.” Alan nodded as Sam rushed over to him and forced him to sit down on one of the chairs.

Edgar looked at Anthony. “Now what?”

The old man stared at the unconscious form of his granddaughter for a moment, and Edgar found himself suddenly gripped by a fear that he was going to change his mind about what he had to do. After what felt like an hour, but probably wasn't really, he pulled himself out of his thoughts and pointed to the other chair by the counter.

“Put her down over there. I need to do this quickly.”

Edgar struggled to rearrange his grip on the unconscious girl without touching anything he shouldn't. He felt the blood rush to his face and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam smirking. He glared at him, trying to force all of his irritation into the look. Finally, he managed to hook his arms under hers, and dragged her the short distance across the room with her sandals scraping along the floor.

As he deposited her on the chair, he felt someone behind him, and turned as he heard the sound of his backpack being unzipped. Sam reached inside and retrieved a plastic flask with a worn Batman print. He unscrewed the top and went back to Alan.

“Hey, that's holy water.,” Edgar told him.

“So? He's not a vampire, is he? Water's water.” Sam offered the flask to Alan, who took a sip.

Edgar winced in disgust. “No, but people dip their hands in that every time they go in the church. Plus we've been banned from three churches already, we have to cycle miles to get some more. You want water, go find the kitchen.”

He released his grip on Sophie's shoulders and she slipped down the chair, almost falling onto the floor. Edgar grunted in irritation and hoisted her back up. He maintained his hold on her as he watched Anthony begin his spell.

The practitioner struck a match on the side of the table and lit a candle. He extinguished the match and used the flame of the candle to light the others on the desk, then placed them on the ground around the chair where Sophie was sitting.

Edgar shifted nervously and glanced down at the candles surrounding him. “Should I move?” he asked.

Anthony shook his head. “No, stay there. Hold her upright.”

Edgar swallowed and nodded.

Once the circle was complete, Anthony placed the first candle on the desk in front of him.

One by one, the practitioner burned different herbs and added others to a cup of water, all the time muttering under his breath, chanting in a language that sounded ancient.

As he stirred and chanted and added more and more to the cup, the liquid turned from clear to a thick, muddy brown.

As he watched, Edgar began to feel the same pressure inside his head that he had felt before. For the third time today, his head began to ache and his skin crawled. Compared to Sophie's magic, this was nothing, he could handle it, but he didn't want to. His grip on Sophie's shoulders loosened as he considered retreat, and then tightened as he steadied his resolve. At the other side of the desk, Alan's expression changed, but he couldn't tell whether it was a reaction to the magic or that he was still recovering.

When he had finished his mixing, still chanting softly under his breath, Anthony turned to his unconscious granddaughter. Holding the potion that he had made held in one hand, he stopped for a moment and looked at her. Reaching out with his free hand, he touched her cheek affectionately, and then brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. She didn't even stir.

The hand on her face tilted her head back slightly, and he raised the cup to her lips.

Anthony tipped the cup upward toward her lips and poured a little of the liquid into her mouth. Even unconscious, her face contorted in disgust at the taste and she coughed and began to move her hands to knock the cup away. Undeterred, Anthony tipped her head back a little further and Edgar saw her throat move as she swallowed the potion. Even as she swallowed, she was still resisting it. Anthony continued to chant as he poured more of the foul smelling concoction down her throat.

Edgar was reminded of horror stories in the news about strange occult rituals, mind control and other evil things.

When the glass was completely drained, Anthony's chanting increased in volume again. He dropped leaves of several herbs into the flame of his candle holding it in front of Sophie as he did and allowing the smoke to touch her. Concentration was etched into his expression. The ritual went on for almost half an hour.

When he had finally finished, Anthony extinguished the candle on the desk with a pinch of his fingers, and at the same time the other flames instantly died. Edgar looked down at them briefly, and then back up at Anthony.

The old man smiled sadly. “It's done.”

His sombre mood seemed to permeate the air along with the smell of extinguished candle and burning herbs. Still slouching in the chair, Sophie stirred slightly but her eyes remained closed.

Edgar slowly released his grip on her again, and this time allowed her to slip down the chair. She didn't fall to the ground, but instead slouched like an unconscious stoner, but without the peaceful expression. Edgar backed up, out of the candle circle, and walked around the desk to where Alan and Sam were still watching. Sophie's brow furrowed, and a little of the liquid potion dribbled from the corner of her mouth.

“Done?” said Edgar. “That's great. So now what?”

Anthony frowned. He wiped the potion from Sophie's lips with his sleeve, and then leaned forward onto the desk. He pressed the palms of his hands against the tabletop, supporting some of his weight with his arms as though he was too exhausted to stand. “What do you mean?”

Edgar found his eye drawn to the patch of wetness staining the old man's shirt cuff. The way he had wiped her clean, like a parent doting over a baby. It made him worry that Anthony thought this was the end of it. “No offense, but your granddaughter's a psycho,” he said. “Psychos can cause plenty of damage without magic to back them up. What are you going to do with her now?”

“I'm going to look after her,” Anthony replied. “She's my family, I'm all she's got.”

Sam fidgeted at the edge of Edgar's vision and Edgar tried to come up with the words to convince him he was wrong. Words that, hopefully, wouldn't piss him off too much.

“You can't,” Sam said finally. Edgar turned to look at his friend. Sam had folded his arms and stepped in front of Alan, and was staring at the old man with a kind of anger that Edgar hadn't believed him capable of. “She's a murderer. She killed all those people. The guy that washed up on the beach with his chest all carved up, I know his sister. She's lost her big brother. You can't just let her get away with all that.”

The guy on the beach. The corpse laying half in the water, naked in front of a growing crowds of onlookers. One of those horror movie moments so common in Santa Carla. Caught up in the momentum of events and worry for what might happen to Alan and himself, Edgar had almost forgotten about what had already happened to other people.

The dead guy had had magical talent, and once Edgar might have said he deserved what he got, but that was then, before he knew what he did now. He had just been a kid, like any of the other innocents he protected from the evil that had settled in the town, and no one had saved him. Sophie had taken away someones brother, like she had wanted to take away his.

Edgar found himself nodding in agreement.

“She hasn't gotten away with anything,” Anthony said. “The loss of her magic may not be a conventional punishment, but believe me it will be a punishment. To find herself without the ability to...”

“Bullshit!” Edgar interjected. “She's been a naughty little girl and you've responded by taking away her toys. So she can't do magic. Boo hoo. Nor can most people and we don't give a damn. Some of us are actually pretty pleased about it. She's a mass murderer. If I'd know this was all you were going to do, I'd...” he tailed off, realizing that in fact there would have been nothing he could have done. Short of killing her himself, his hands were completely tied. That was the reason he had agreed to this stupid plan in the first place.

That he had no end to that statement was obviously apparent to Anthony. His eyebrow twitched as he waited pointedly to find out what Edgar would have done. When no continuation was forthcoming, he nodded indulgently at him. “I couldn't let the council kill her,” he said. “I couldn't leave her to continue hurting innocents and manipulating me into not realizing. The police couldn't possibly understand. What would you have had me do?”

Edgar shook his head, but the old man was right. They were right back where they started. The police would laugh them out of the station. The council, whoever they were, would have been his choice, but he was never going to convince the old man of that. Especially not now he had broken the rules himself.

“She's my responsibility,” Anthony continued. “I accept that, I've dealt with the problem, and now I need to look after my granddaughter.”

“Look after her?” Edgar sneered at him and then shook his head. “You said your council would execute you if they found out you'd done this spell. What's going to stop her running off to tell them about it the instant she wakes up?”

“That wouldn't be a great idea,” Sam interjected. Edgar spun around to look at him. Sam hadn't moved, but his anger had softened slightly now that Edgar had taken over. Behind him, Alan leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his eyes half closed. “I mean, they'd probably want to know why he did it, they'd probably find out about what she's been doing. I doubt she wants that,” he continued.

Anthony nodded.

“Fine, whatever.” Edgar said I guess there's nothing you can do now anyway. You can't go to your council either without as good as handing yourself over But you're right about one thing; she is your responsibility. You chose this, and if she hurts anyone else, anyone at all, it's your fault. Understand?”

He looked as Sophie, she stirred in her sleep as consciousness appeared to be returning slowly. Limbs stretched and her face twitched. Edgar backed off a few more steps. He really didn't want to be here when she woke up.

“And get out of town,” he added. “I don't want to know I'm living down the street from her. Get to the other side of the country, or move to Canada, or China. I don't care, just get as far away from us as you can and make sure she stays there, got it?”

For a moment, Anthony looked as though he was going to refuse. Edgar thought back to the first time he had been in the shop, when he had told Anthony to leave. If only he had agreed then, they would have been spared all of this, the two people Sophie had killed would still be alive and Alan would never have done magic. Of course, Sophie would still be on her country-wide killing spree, so it wasn't all good, but every now and then Edgar though he and Alan deserved the right to be selfish. God knows they do enough for the town without anyone ever knowing about it.

This time, there was no refusal. Anthony backed down and nodded in agreement. “You won't hear from us again,” he promised.

“Good.” Edgar turned away from him as though he was no longer important. The key was still in the door, and finally it was over. The magic shop, the warlocks, they were out of his life forever.

Only, they hadn't exactly left it in the same state they had found it.

There were things he needed to know. Things he didn't want to know, but questions needed to be asked before the old man kept his promise to leave town. But not now. Not in front of everybody, and not while Alan looked so frighteningly... fragile. Christ. He had never seen his brother look like that. Slowly, he turned around and looked at the old man.

“Is Alan going to be okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine, Edgar. Lets go,” Alan said.

Edgar ignored him and continued to stare at Anthony until the old man nodded.

“That was a powerful spell for someone so inexperienced. It may take a few days for him to recover. His magic may be weaker for several weeks, but I doubt that will worry either of you.”

Edgar nodded. For a second, he contemplated asking his other question. Behind the counter, the girl slumped in the chair moaned in her sleep and readjusted her position, getting ready to wake up. He couldn't be here when that happened. He turned back to Alan and Sam. “Fall back,” he commanded. “Alan, you need any help?”

Alan shook his head and got to his feet as Sam turned the key.

Edgar overrode Alan's decision and hurried to his brother's side, supporting him as he walked to the door. Alan didn't push him away.

Out on the boardwalk, it was still a warm Friday afternoon. The sun was still high enough in the sky that tourists were laying on the beach baking in the sun, and hordes of kids recently released from school wandered past talking loudly about their plans for the weekend. It was strange to think that it had been such a short time. The afternoon seemed to have stretched on for weeks.

“Edgar?” said the old man just as Edgar stepped over the threshold and out onto the boardwalk.

He turned his head and looked inside at him. He was still standing where they had left him, next to Sophie as she slept off the effects of the spell.

“We'll leave tomorrow,” he said. “If there's anything you need in the meantime, I'll be here.” He smiled.

Edgar scowled in response. It was almost as though the old man had read his thoughts. He turned away without giving any kind of an answer.

It was finally over. Only it wasn't. He couldn't unlearn the things he knew, and Sophie was still out there. Anthony may believe that he had solved the problem, but Edgar had less faith in human nature. He couldn't bring himself to believe that she wouldn't be back.

Things were never that simple.


	22. Chapter 22

It was early morning, so early that the sun had barely begun its slow climb out of the horizon and into the sky. The beach was deserted, even the guy who collected money in exchange for sun loungers and umbrellas was not yet present. The boardwalk, hub of activity both day and night was eerily empty. The air still held the chill of the night, and the light was gray and unready; as though the world were waiting for someone to come and switch on the sun.

Edgar liked it. The noisy, crowded boardwalk with its clash of different smells and the constant push of oily, sweaty bodies as they passed on their way to and from nowhere felt false and wrong. Even having grown up among it – or maybe because of that – he had never felt at home there. This was different. After the monsters had retreated to their caves and holes, taking shelter from the light, but before the humans came out and ruined the fresh, new feeling of the start of the day.

Edgar leaned on the shallow wall opposite the magic shop, dressed in military green, and faded blue denim. Behind him, he could hear the quiet roar of the ocean waves breaking on the beach, not drowned out for once by music and the shouting of children. Right behind where he was standing, a body had washed up not too many days before. To most of the town, that fact was now long forgotten, and a few hours from now, kids would be making sandcastles from the same sand where he had lain.

There was a light on in the magic shop. The relative dimness of the early morning and the yellow tint to the window made the glass front glow brightly. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down the sleeves of his jacket, friction providing relief against the morning chill, then with one last glance at the empty beach behind him, he took a deep breath and began a decisive march toward the door.

Through the window, he could see the shadow of movement within, and in the silence he was sure he could make out the sound of someone working inside. Reluctantly, he raised a hand and knocked on the door.

He waited, half hoping that no one would answer. No such look, the sound of a key turning in the lock was followed by the creak of hinges as the door opened a crack and the now familiar face of Anthony appeared.

The door opened fully, and without a word of invitation, Anthony stepped back to allow him entry. Edgar considered refusing, having the conversation on the doorstep, but he wanted privacy. Behind him the day was starting and a handful of cafes were opening, setting up ready to welcome the customers they hoped would stop by for breakfast. Edgar slipped inside and allowed the practitioner to close the door behind him.

Anthony looked tired. He was dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing the day before, now covered in a layer of gray dust. Most of the merchandise had been removed from the shelves and boxed up ready to be taken away to wherever he was planning on going next. It made the room look larger. The smell of extinguished candles and incense still hung in the air.

Anthony looked at him inquiringly. “I'm surprised to see you again,” he said.

“Sure you are,” Edgar told him. If Anthony hadn't expected a visit, he wouldn't have made a point of letting Edgar know how long he would be there.

Anthony said nothing. He turned around and continued removing books from the shelf that they had hidden behind less than a day earlier. There was no feeling of magic in progress in the room today. Nothing but an old man, and a lot of boxes. Yet for some reason, Edgar found his mind wandering, taking him back to the feeling of Anthony's magic rising up, challenging him.

The old man may look harmless, especially now, with his dust coated, wrinkled clothes and tired, drawn expression, but Edgar knew that he was anything but.

“I'm not scared of you, you know.” Edgar said. He walked over to the desk, now covered in two large cardboard boxes rather than the ingredients of a spell. He turned around and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest and raising his chin defiantly at the old man.

Anthony nodded. “I'm glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, well,” Edgar glanced around the room from his new angle. It was strange to see the shelves empty of their books and magical equipment. He was glad to see it go, but it was still strange. “I meant it when I said I don't want you coming back,” he said.

“I know you did,” Anthony told him, “and I meant it when I promised that we wouldn't.”

Edgar wondered what the shop would be next; who the new owner would be, if it was sold. He hoped for something nice and quiet and safe. Like a liquor store, or a gun shop. Outside, he could see the day growing lighter as the sun began to shine in through the front window.

“Just tell me one thing before you get out of our hair for good,” he said.

Anthony frowned as he looked at him seriously. He placed his handful of magic books into a cardboard box by his feet, straightened up and brushed some of the dust from his clothes. Finally, he nodded.

Upstairs, Edgar thought he could hear the creaking of floorboards, someone walking around. Sophie, awake and probably very angry.

“Look, Sophie told me some stuff,” he paused and fiddled nervously with the loose button on his denim jacket. He needed to know the answer to his question, but for some reason he was having difficulty making himself say the words.

“And what kind of stuff would that be?” Anthony asked.

“My parents. Our parents. Alan's and mine.”

The old man nodded again, looking at him with a completely neutral expression, if he knew what he was going to ask, he gave no indication, and he gave no hint of what the answer was going to be.

“She said they're how they are because they didn't use magic. She said I'm going to end up just like them if I don't use it either.” He paused, his heart was beating too quickly, he was breathing too fast, it was making him dizzy. He pushed off from the desk with the palms of his hands and walked quickly to the other side of the room, stopped, turned and walked back again. His arms remained folded across his chest, he didn't know what else to do with his hands. “Is it true?” he asked. “Does that happen?”

Anthony looked at him levelly without speaking, calmly assessing the situation. For a moment, Edgar thought he wasn't going to answer, then he nodded slowly. “I don't know about your parents,” he admitted, “but it can happen. If someone's talent is locked away, inaccessible to them, sometimes the mind tries to fill what it thinks is a gap with something else. But it's not always a bad thing. Some of the greatest discoveries in history can be attributed to unlocked magical potential. A hole can be filled with science, or mathematics, or...” he smiled, “even hunting vampires.”

Edgar stared at the old man for a moment, but he detected no lies in his words. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to relax a little. He felt the corners of his own lips begin to twitch into a smile, but he suppressed it, covered his mouth with a hand and faked a cough. He nodded curtly in thanks.

“Good luck, wherever you end up,” he said. He turned to leave.

“But Edgar, one more thing,” Anthony said.

The soles of Edgar's boots squeaked on the floor as he turned slowly to look at the old man for what he hoped would be the final time.

Anthony cleared his throat and hesitated for a moment. “I'm reluctant to tell you this,” he said, “but as you came to me, I think I should.”

Edgar nodded. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and forced them to stay there as he felt the tendrils of discomfort once again wrap themselves around his chest and stomach and begin to squeeze.

“Yesterday, in the shop, you felt something, didn't you?” Anthony asked.

His mind went back once again to Anthony's demonstration of his power, to Sophie's overwhelming display of force that had him almost writhing on the floor in agony. Two things better forgotten. He opened his mouth to lie, but realized too late to change it, that his response had been written in his expression the moment Anthony had asked his question. Instead, he said nothing, stood completely still, and waited.

“There was a lot of magic flying around in this room, from me, from Sophie, and even from your brother. Proximity to that much power can begin to awaken latent talent in people such as yourself. If you felt something, that means it is beginning.”

He took a step forward, Edgar took an unsteady step back, his head shook from side to side and he almost tripped on the completely flat ground.

“Only beginning,” Anthony told him. “Your power is still locked away for now, but it is closer to the surface.”

He remembered agony, he remembered the awareness of his own unwanted power deep inside him rising up to greet the much stronger power outside. He remembered feeling something inside of him holding it back beginning to break. He hadn't thought about it since it had happened. He had deliberately placed the memory in a locked box in his mind and thrown out the key. If he ignored it, it hadn't happened.

“You've come a step closer to realizing your potential,” Anthony told him. “I only tell you this because the council watches for people like you and your brother, and one they might miss, but two living in such close proximity...”

Edgar shook his head swiftly from side to side. Suddenly the room seemed to be spinning and he needed to sit down.

“It's possible nothing will happen, it will stay at its current level and go no further, but living in a place so rich in magical energy, and the fact that you seek out the supernatural in an effort to remove it from your town, you are exposing yourself to more power. Increasing the chances that your own abilities will be unlocked completely. I felt I should warn you.”

Edgar backed off through the room to the door, never taking his eyes off Anthony until his back hit the black painted wood. He shook his head again. “I don't know what you're talking about, old man,” he said. His hands groped behind him for the handle, still staring at the practitioner as though he was about the attack. Finally, his fingers found the cool metal and twisted. “I never felt anything.”

Anthony opened his mouth as if to reply, but before he could say anything, Edgar opened the door and slipped through onto the boardwalk.

The sun was shining now. It looked like it was going to be another warm weekend day. Not yet the oppressive temperatures of the summer, but pleasant enough to bring the crowds to the boardwalk. But not yet. It was still almost deserted. Edgar barely noticed this time, he could have been in the middle of a crowd or completely alone, he wouldn't have noticed. He jogged a few steps toward home, then when he was sure that Anthony wasn't following him, slowed to a walking speed. 

Frightening possibilities spun around his mind. Now that Anthony had reminded him of what he had felt, and confirmed his fears, he couldn't forget it again. It was always going to be there, in the back of his mind, he didn't know whether he would ever be able to be sure of anything again.

He wondered whether this had been Anthony's revenge on him. If not for him and Alan, the old man would still be happily oblivious, the idea of what Sophie was would never have occurred to him. Edgar had shattered his peace of mind, and he wondered whether Anthony had decided as a parting gift to do the same to him.

It was possible that nothing would happen, that was what the old man had told him. He hung onto that, repeating it over and over in his head until he reached home.

As he pushed open the front door, stepping into the shop to save himself the slightly longer walk to the back door, he was greeted by the familiar smell of marijuana smoke hanging in the air. His parents were nowhere to be seen, the smell was old, left over from the night before. He locked the door behind him, it was way too early for customers, and made his way into the back.

In the kitchen, he found Alan sitting at the table, a half eaten bowl of cereal and a comic book on the table in front of him. His brother's hair was messy from sleep, and the tiredness on his face was a more natural kind of exhaustion than the one he had seen the previous afternoon when Edgar had ordered him to bed without protest.

Alan looked up at him as he walked in, and frowned. He turned a page of his comic book.

“Where've you been?” he asked.

Edgar shrugged and pulled out the other chair. “Nowhere important,” he said.

Alan nodded. He stirred his spoon around his bowl unsticking the cornflakes from around the edge. “What did he tell you?” he asked

Edgar sat down heavily on the wooden dining chair and rested his chin on his hand as he looked at what Alan was reading. “Sophie was exaggerating,” he said finally. It was nice and vague, but in no way a lie. He watched Alan carefully, taking in his reaction. His brother didn't appear fooled, but he let it go, taking from his words the idea that Edgar was probably okay.

They had never kept secrets. Edgar didn't even know whether they _could_ keep secrets. Sooner or later, they were going to have a long talk, but if Edgar had any choice in the matter it was going to be later. Much later. For now, they had other things to worry about. Like the store, like schoolwork, and like their duty as the defenders of Santa Carla's night time. Finding out you're not quite as normal as you thought doesn't give you a free pass to slack off for too long.

Alan shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth, and as he did Edgar reached across the table, gripped the paper of the comic with the tips of his fingers and slid it across the tabletop. The latest copy of Batman. He'd been meaning to read it, but with all the craziness he hadn't gotten around to it. He turned it back to the front page.

“Hey!” Alan protested. He reached out to take it back, but Edgar was too quick for him. He snatched it up from the table and backed off across the room, shaking his head.

Alan got to his feet and tackled his thieving brother, retrieving his comic without so much as creasing the cover. Victorious, he sat himself back down, found his page and continued reading.

Edgar grinned to himself. Magic or no, they were the same people they had always been. Alan had been right from the start, it didn't change anything. And if, in the future, something did happen, they could deal with it. They were the Frog brothers, after all. Together, they could deal with anything.

Edgar poured himself his own bowl of cereal and sat back down at the table. The latest crisis was over and finally, things could get back to normal, or as normal as they ever had been.

For a little while, at least.

* * *

The room was damp and dark, shielded from all natural light. The yellow, flickering candles gave it an eerie atmosphere. There was little natural airflow here, and a dank, musty smell hung in the air, thick and unhealthy.

Sophie shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. Her knee length cotton dress and thin knitted cardigan were designed for sunny days and summer nights. This place somehow drained all heat from the air, and then began doing the same to the warmth in her body.

The room was filthy, as though it had fallen into a state of disrepair from which it would never recover, demolition would be the only way to make this place habitable again, and even then, it may still be tainted by its current occupants. Decay was like that, once it set in, it was nearly impossible to banish.

The creature lounging casually on the old sofa looked for all the world like a human girl. Her long black hair fell in loose curls around the pale skin of her bare shoulders. The cold didn't bother her. Her black dress was low cut and very short, and struck a sharp contrast with the deathly white of her skin. Blue eyes stared out from beneath layers of carefully applied black makeup. Even her lips were stained a shade of red so deep that in the low light they looked almost black.

Her lips curled in pleasure as her eyes moved slowly and appreciatively over the body of the girl before her. Sophie tightened her arms around her body and forced herself to stare back defiantly. It was too late to back out now. She had gotten this far, and although she knew there was still a chance the vampire was simply playing with her, there was interest in her gaze as well as hunger. If she ran, she was food. If she stayed, she was in with a chance.

“So, I hear you had a run in with some enemies of mine,” the vampire said.

Sophie trembled as she nodded, “I can help you bring them down,” he said. “I know things about them.”

The vampire laughed and the walls of the room seemed to close in. “I don't need your help, silly girl. It's already in hand.”

Sophie didn't take her eyes off the vampire laying on the sofa, but she began to slowly back off, feeling the way with the soles of her feet, praying that she would be allowed to leave.

“Where are you going?” the vampire asked her.

There was someone behind her. She didn't know how she knew, he made no sound but she could somehow sense his presence. She tried, instinctively to reach for her magic, knowing it was gone but still praying that by some miracle it would return. There was nothing. She was utterly defenseless in the monsters' lair.

Footsteps behind her. She spun around, but there was no one there.

“They took something from you, didn't they?” the vampire asked.

Sophie hesitated, turning back toward her. The vampire was on her feet, advancing silently forwards. She nodded.

“They took something from me too. I don't need your help, I will have my revenge, but you might be useful to me in other ways.”

Sophie began to back off again, the invisible presence behind her moved closer.

Her dark colored lips curved into a wicked smile, parting just enough to reveal razor sharp fangs. The long nails of her right hand pressed into the wrist of her left and blood welled up slowly from the wound.

“Tell me,” she said. “Are you thirsty?”


End file.
